I've been having a hard time sleeping. Tonight, I'm going
to try melatonin, an indoleamine, a natural compound
produced by various organisms, including bacteria
and eukaryotes. Its discovery in 1958 stemmed
from the isolation of a substance from the pineal gland of cows
that could induce skin lightening in common frogs. Natalie
wishes me luck. Thank you. And then I wake up tired.
Caffeine? Obsessive thinking? I'll pour another cup of coffee
and think about it for the rest of my life, which, on this chart,
should take me to 76.19, on March 15th, 2041. I check
a second chart, which says I'll only make it to 68,
so I think I'll stop. Wasn't 83 supposed to be average?
Louche and stylish, beautiful in my waiting?
The last one on a bench watching busses go by?

*

Heart disease is the number one cause of death in Americans.
So I'm going to take up running. Number two is cancer.
Maybe I'll eat some cauliflower or research probiotics.
But "Accidents" comes in at number five,
and that one has me stumped. Last month, I slipped
on the ice inside the garage and fell full on my back
against the step. It left a long thin bruise
across my shoulder blades. Last week, I went to take a redirectional
nudge at the dog with my foot when he was getting on
the cat, to get his attention away from what he was doing,
and instead—in my socks—I flipped up on our wood floor
and went down hard on my left hip. Robin calls it "accident
prone," as I'm often prone. Massive bird in this tree.
Then the bird is gone. We set out, trying to act mortal.