the worry

as she lies
sick and dying
in her bed,
nearing the end
of her life
she wonders why
she spent
so much time
worrying
over men.
how to get them,
how to keep
them, how to
get rid of
them when it
didn't work out.
why couldn't
she have been
happy
alone. now
in drawing
her last breath
she whispers
to herself,
wringing her
boney hands,
which ones
will arrive
to see her
off at death.