a futile endeavour

by Marina McCready

it transpires that telling your GP you are concerned
with your ephemerality will not accomplish a great
deal. there is no prescription currently available to cure
such fears and any decent psych would be too much
of the same mind to help. moreover the doctor’s surgery
only exacerbates the problem, after all – in what place
is the presence of death more prominent? the stop smoking
signs, the secretary’s spectacles pointed
like church spires, the veinous hand of the elderly
shaking as they fill in another insurance form, even
the fish tanks seems to taunt you: ‘look how fleeting life is’
cries the crab while a passing platy fish smiles and says
‘you know all things must end’