Inevitable

When I see death or dying, such as a dog's body on the highway or a patient in the last stages of cancer, I should look closely. This state of decay is inevitable. It awaits all of us. You will be wise to remember, Mick, that your lump of flesh will one day look like this. It will be returned to the earth, as carbon, hydrogen and oxygen, to be recycled.


There is an emaciated homeless guy who lives on the soi. The food vendors give him scraps now and then, and he awakes, gets water from the public fountain, and picks at the food with his fingers. But most of the time he just sleeps under the highway. When you walk past him, you cannot help but notice his ribs. They are sticking sharply now; you wonder if it hurts or if they will pierce the skin.


I should look. He is only sleeping. I should be reminded: this is what awaits me. But lately I have started turning my head away. I cannot look anymore; perhaps because I'm getting older.


He has moved from the shelter of the soi out to the bustling sidewalk of the major street. He is getting closer to the inevitable.