He tells Admitting what they already know:
he’s a long-term alky. He doesn’t mention
that he’s noncompliant with his doctor’s orders
to lay off the booze and
to take his blood pressure meds,
his breathing meds and, for God’s sake,
to eat a vegetable once in a while.
He has no imagination; can’t foresee
what his life would be like
following a stroke,
or dragging around an oxygen tank,
or hopping around on a single leg.
He says he’s ready for anything
but he’s not; he thinks his life
can’t get much worse,
but has no idea how wrong he is.
RDP Saturday — SICK