Oldies station

I said

No more poems about death

Time to wax about the butterflies and trees

But the shaky red wings of the cardinal

Suddenly reminded me

My fathers hands were shaky when he ate the ice chips

The nurses wouldn’t make. Fake eye contact

My wife is worried about

She is due to breast feed

Meanwhile her mother’s breasts

Full of tumors

All this changing how I feel.

About breaths and breast’s adolescent me

Counting seconds hoping he takes one more breath

Feeling selfish it’s all for me

Knowing how much pain he’s in

Let him go into that sleep

If he can just make it to Christmas

So I don’t have to weep

and explain

Under the mistletoe

while opening presents

All those songs won’t sound the same

No more poems about death.

Maybe next time

If she makes it

I guess we’ll see

She’s soaking up the Chemo

Listen to Sinatra. Room 203

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s