That’s What You Get

Lying here—old, sick, and dying--
my mind casts back to when I was a child suffering from the flu
and my father carried me to bed, tucked me in, fed me chips of ice,
and never left my side until the fever, at last, had broken.

Then, years later, when the illness came again,
my once-wife gave me water and aspirin
and held my hand through the dark night
until once more I was well.

And yet years after that, when it came again,
my once-girlfriend sat by my side,
put cold cloths on my head and stroked my hair
until I was yet again well and strong and brave.

But now I lie alone—old, sick, and dying--
in a one-room boarding house with no one by my side
because that’s what you get when you’ve spent a life like mine
caring more for oneself than anybody else.