last orders

the last thing you ate was canteen fish cake and chips. the last music you heard was this. the last real thing you said, before it became half managed yeses and nos, was that someone’s breath smelled. the last thing you tasted was water dripping off a tiny pink sponge onto your teeth and tongue. the last thing you wore were pyjama bottoms brought in in a bag from home and a t-shirt from lost property. the last hand you felt was theirs.

the last breath you took wasn’t alone. the last conversations weren’t profound. the last days weren’t as you feared. the last moments weren’t florid. the last days were still. the last days were quiet. the last days didn’t hurt. the last days slipped by.

and the lasts had long been slipping by, one by one by one by one, unnoticed. before then. before these last lasts. before the last ward, the last room, the last bed. there had been the last drink, the last bit of tidying, the last laugh, the last unaided shit. the last yawn, the last breeze on your neck, the last stroke of an unknown cat, the last feeling of disappointment, the last forgetting why you entered a room, the last sneeze, the last time you closed a drawer.

you lasted as long as you could. your wish was to last. a lasting filled up your time. lasting filled you full up. you lasted so hard you missed the last bit of everything else. lasting ferociously you outlasted any living to be done. your lasting made living leave the room. you were though, more than ever, lastly yourself. you are what lasted.

and of course with the lasts were firsts. first sensation. first realisation. first concerned look. first grave tones. first visible decline. first turning towards it. first visitor who knows they won’t come back. first questions of plans to be made about how and where and who we should invite. the firsts no one wants. not the firsts of longing, of love and want. not the firsts of steps and words, and putting your face in the water. these were the firsts of lasts.

you go first. I’ll follow after.