You poor pitiful and apparently sick man
Bloated like an expired sales date on a roll of pork sausage
Logic would tell you that your time is drawing near
What with that oozing sore on the top of your head
That looks as if Mount St. Helens has erupted again
Because those bloody brains are flowing down into your ears
And if that’s not bad enough to make you to sit up and take notice
You’ve got a hole in your nose it takes the Hope diamond to fill
And man what about those clumsy feet of yours
What’s up with them two old mules?
The left one drags like a homeless bum puffing on a stale cigarette
While the right one remains glued in your squeaky rubber shoe
As you lag your all but dead ass back and forth
Between the constantly running toilet and the always warm fridge
Eating and crapping your last meal of pills
Delivered by proxy from a Mexican dealer
At less than one third the cost of a Palestinian funeral
Same day ground shipments with delivery by sunset being guaranteed

Ted Sheridan

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sell-before-next-tuesday-pt-in-a-series-of-poems-leading-to-my-death/