Living and Dying

A Poem by Marsha Posz

Daddy fell from a tree and
done snapped his wrist.
I was five years old and
tied his boots every morning.
His cast was in the way.
Mommy fretted a lot about the bills.
How could they pay for it all?
Money was sparse.

Then I went plumb crazy one day,
swallowed pills and drew razors
through my teenaged wrists.
Mommy fretted again.
I was labeled for life.
Who would pay for the pills and doctors
that kept me alive?

Doctors are sparse.
Daddy needs heart medicine and
Mommy still frets about us all and
worries about death panels.
All I know is sometimes I want to live and
sometimes I want to die and sometime
it seems like I can’t do either one.

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