Supplemental Questions

You go through the things that need doing before Monday.

Engaging autopilot, seeing nothing, feeling nothing

You go through the day.

It's handled, I'm fine, you say while bluffing.

All chores may have been met:

The sticky notes, the reminders, the deadlines.

But after November 1, what do you have left?

Is it nothing but sanded down teeth and forehead lines?

When all this is to fall away

Reduced to dust in the afterlife,

What then will you have to say,

Trying to account for your life?