My only fear 
about death is that
it will be merely
a doorway into
an existence 
much like this one

but devoid of 
all the relationships
that made this one
tolerable. Afraid I’ll
wake up after death

in a room with
a one-channel TV
and a bed, a microwave,
no telephone, no way
of communicating,
plenty of Pop-Tarts
and Hot Pockets, 
running water, 
no door. Maybe a window

and outside the view is just
fog, dim outlines of buildings
too far to shout at and make contact
with those who may be
behind those windows
feeling like me. 

On the TV?
Reruns. Nothing but
reruns of 
the news on the last day
I was alive.  

No one to argue with,
no one to love or hate,

no one at all but for 
the smarmy head of 
the anchor
smiling past me
at someone I can’t see,

someone I don’t know, 
someone I somehow
madly desire.


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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