Congrats, Chinaski

As I near 70
I get letters, cards, little gifts
From strange people
Congratulations, they tell
Me
Congratulations

I know what they mean:
The way I have lived
I should have been dead in half
That time

I have piled myself with a mass of
Grand abuse, been
Careless toward myself
Almost to the point of
Madness
I am still here
Leaning toward this machine
In this smoke-filled room
This large blue trashcan to my
Left
Full of empty
Containers

The doctors have no answers
And the gods are
Silent

Congratulations, death
On your patience
I have helped you all that
I can

Now one more poem
And a walk out on the balcony
Such a fine night there

I am dressed in shorts and stockings
Gently scratch my old
Belly
Look out there
Look off there
Where dark meets dark

It's been one hell of a crazy
Ballgame