When Asimov was dying, sad, in pain,
And hazed with drugs, he reached out to his wife
And said “I want… I want…” and she, in vain,
Asked what, what did he want, and as his life
Was ebbing, he said “Isaac Asimov.”
Then she, not understanding, said “That’s you!”
But I know what he meant, that moment of
Indignity and pain was not what’s true
He wanted his real life, himself, employed
In doing what he loved, to live, be free.
So, often through all this my thought has toyed
With those last words, his name, the same for me
This lonely lockdown life is just a void
I miss my life, the way my life should be.
Note: According to Janet Asimov in her afterword to his memoir “I. Asimov” at least as I remember reading it twenty years ago.
July 7th 2021
