(All's Well That Ends) In Medias Res

But let’s talk about you for a minute
With the vomit in your gullet
From a half-bottle of vodka that you’d stolen from the optic
In the back seat of your car because it wasn’t safe to start it
«You're far to fucked to drive» were the words that you imparted
And the woollen dress that clung so tight
To the contours of your body
And the dead grass stuck to fibres
From us rolling in the lay-by
We’re passed to dog-haired blankets
That protected the bench seat covers
And a crucifix was hung from rear-view mirror by your mother
I’m leaving my body to science; not medical but physics
Drag my corpse through the airport and lay me limp on the left wing
Drop me at the highest point and trace a line around the dent I leave in the
ground:
That’ll be the initial of the one you’ll marry now I’m not around
I flew for seven hours
The sky didn’t once turn black
You know I’d sooner go down in a ball of flame
Than I would lay here and be bored to death
All’s well that ends
I wake from sleep, my head and shoulders wet against the window
A frost had formed and melted, soaked me right through to my collarbone
If you were given the option of dying painlessly in peace at forty-five
But with a lover at your side, after a full and happy life
Is this something that would interest you?
Would this interest you at all?