Apocalypse Soliloquy

I hope my death is not stolen from me

by a fiery blast of Fahrenheit or Celsius     

or another calculatable accuracy.                       

I will gladly relinquish all the pleasures of daily

bread, the pride and dreams of art—even pulse;

but I hope my death will not be taken from me.

Actually, it is a modest policy;

little there to discuss as to solace

or in the way of privacy.

A valued moment of self-possession? Might it be

something to embrace more than to expulse?

I hope my death will not be pried from me.

My end is not to be just a cause in a public sea

of scientists teaming against a disease,

a private point in a welter of piracy.

After all, won't it fundamentally and rightly

be mine and no one else's? I hope my death is

not taken from me; better, it be

an appointment kept in a private sea.