“Good afternoon, Mr. Ken!
This is Sally-Jean
at Dr. Vaughn’s office!
The Doctor would like you
to come in,
early tomorrow morning –
if you can.
There have been some –
developments…”

Oh!
Dear Lady!
Can you know
the soft and silky feeling
of that noose around my neck?
Did you think
I would say,
“No”
to that knell
you rang
when you called
in the late afternoon?

So many questions
squeezed their way
up my throat:

Is it something
I did
or
didn’t do?

Some supplement
I should have taken?

An extra set of sit-ups
I could have added
to my fitness regimen?

Some inevitable,
murderous gene
I might not have hooked
to my double-helix scaffold?

Of course,

it does not matter,

now.

It’s never whether.
Only when.

So,
certainly,
you diplomatic harpy!
What time shall I arrive?

The crack of dawn?

Shall I stare at
blueing sky
as the sun slithers
its light over the horizon,
Night,
in chromatic increments,
becoming morning?

Shall I stand in my driveway,
my hand on the car door,
so unwilling to slide into
the drivers seat,
in which,

in truth,

I have never,

ever,

been?