"To die is
to sterilize,
to remove
from unproductive life,"
she mused in her analytical way.

Well then,
she really
already was dead

And the little lab-coated men
would be long past due
when they found her

Just off the cement crust
of the highway line,

Lying amid the brush.

They were scientists,
They were used
to the bare facts'

That would be all
they would find:

A darkened brown husk
of former life,
A sunken carcass
of former cares.


In her final moments
she contemplated, composed
the Coroner's Report---

FEMALE DECEASED;

CEASED AND DESISTED,

FAILED TO PERSIST,

Maybe just too PIST.

She laughed hoarsely,
Imaging it in her mind:

(While her brittle, stained body
grew still, its limbs still twitching')


The solemn men
bending over her
in their neat smocks,

Covering her with
a kleenex-white sheet,

And later,
Whisking her into
the vaguely green,
shiny bag'

The black one,
zippered for handier disposal.

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