I was a depressed librarian
with a simple life
and a pension.
I drank too much
vodka and fell asleep.
When I woke,
I was surrounded
by skilled and attentive
medical professionals.
They lifted me
into a sitting position,
fed me like an infant,
easy to love.
Hadn’t I always wanted
such sad ecstasy?
For Death to offer
her bare shoulder, slipped
from the shroud, drop me
promptly as an arcade claw
into a pile of baubles?

Amy Thatcher