I don't want to be there
When the bill comes due.
I'm thinking of a small apartment
In a safe place.
If the climate allows
No need for heat or A/C.
Diana would paint, and I'd write.
Days would end at dusk.
Eventually, maybe a week or year,
Time would run out,
But until then
We'd eat fish and avoid people.
Doesn't sound possible,
No doubt someone would take the food,
We'd run out of paint and paper.
OK, we get a only week!
On the bright side
I would not be interred
In the family plot,
Or suffer a lovely death testimonial
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