My father died in our spare room

Where he had been sojourning

Getting weaker

Until eventually he stayed put and

His skin turned to buttered wax.

In dying my father was silent

Didn’t ask for even a sip of water.

You have to understand

He was 99 years old

He thought he would live forever

And really wanted to.

Instead he slipped away because nobody

Not even my father

Who argued like a lawyer

Can muster a winning case against death.