Do Not Break Please

The speaker expresses a desire to live in just their head when their body no longer functions. They envision being enclosed in a glass container with various apparatuses attached to sustain their brain. They request the ability to interact with technology and have their basic needs met. They also ask for precautions to be taken, such as keeping pets and children away, not forgetting them, and not dropping them. They emphasize the inability to live with a body again. Don't break, please. I could live in a head. When the arthritic limbs no longer move, when the motorized shopping cart is no longer of use, when the surgeon's knife cannot fix a worn spine, when all below my neck quits, I could live in a head. Enclose me in a glass with holes. Attach pipes, electrodes, rubber tubes, and glowing things. Circulate blood through my brain. Pump in some orange juice, applesauce, an occasional glass of plum wine. Give me electronic eyes to move computer keys, a microphone with speakers to recite my poetry, a volume control I can reach with my tongue, audio buds for my ears, a soft cover, please. Put me on a tabletop, preferably an open cabinet, dusted regularly, facing the TV. Grant me a few wishes. No, better, a contract I can sign while I still have hands. Properly notarized. Hereby, keep all pets and small children away. Never forget and leave me at the barbershop. In a fire, grab me first. And the most important clause, don't ever drop me. I will never get a head again.