How Will I Know?

Hello: Another poem may be a diversion from the everlasting crisis. I’ll be back on that soon I promise. RS

How Will I Know?

How will I know when it’s time to go?
Not talking about movies,
Or of the bear who knew it was time to go over the mountain
Just to see what he could see.
Or visit an old friend in Mexico or London.

No, this is about that final bow out.
Sylvia Plath, Charles Boyer bowed themselves out.
As did a couple of Hemingway’s.

Luigi, our imperious cat, bowed out.
Not on his own.
With the help of Dr. Brian
Who looked Luigi in the eye and
Asked, “Is it time to go?”
It’s time, Luigi replied.
Then with a needle prick it was over.
It was time to go.

Hamlet ponders over and over,
To be or not to be, that is the question.
Does he get an answer?
I don’t think so.

So I wonder in my ninety-second year,
Will I know for sure when it’s time to go?
Not so fast, still some things undone.

There’s Soren, a new born great-grandson,
Way out there in LA Califor nia.
Waiting for me to kiss his little behind.
But still I don’t know. Who will tell me
When it is time to go?

Thanks Kate N.H.W.Y.