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Hospital Blues
There’s an artificial light in the hospital.
A CBC request blares over the intercom
obtrusively, the details of low hemoglobin
putting another into a room with the all-too-white
sheets
of admittance: one more who might not make it.
I’ve had too much bad sleep. Too much chemo.
And the hours pass the patients’ requests
get processed,
or the way that platelets drip, from an elevated bag,
down into me.
There’s a feeling I can’t quite shake.
Everything has fallen into the cryptic.
I read my own medical charts
as death whispers from the floors below me.
The hospital keeps its inhuman pulse going.
And tonight, as we try another concoction of cure
the world grows smaller
set against a sky of uncountable stars.
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Warmth
We would walk
My dad and I
Or, rather he would walk
with me riding on his shoulders
I was the general
And he a lowly servant
I would hold his head and steer him
Along our daily path
He always went to get the New York Times
I couldn’t read
The man at the news booth knew us
and would always let me reach and pick
out a pretzel stick
“What do you say?”
“Thanks”
The return home I let him direct himself
I was too busy looking at pigeons and eating my pretzel
stick
We would laugh
and point at squirrels
We would go to the park and watch the hustlers
Take money from guys in suits
How could those dirty people be so good at chess?
The return home I let him direct himself
I was too busy looking at pigeons and eating my pretzel
My father would complain
About the crumbs in is hair
I would laugh
We were a pair.
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Frosty Summer Nights
Only or bodies were acquainted.
As the night was killed by the sun,
we walked down separate city streets
both of us unwilling to forget.
The sound of our feet leaving was
drowned out by the clock’s repeating bells.
I often look to the sky
And wish for your return,
As I am once again the
night watchman waiting for
your acquaintance.
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Where Was I Now
Crouching behind the black
I wait and wait.
Thinking how the other campers
laughed at my charcoal covered face
How wrong they were
It worked
I made it to the top
Undetected
Was it the dark face?
or the stealthy moves
from feet to knees
To stomach?
No matter
I’m here
Only seven feet from victory
My heartbeat is sure to give me away
I creep closer
I hear footsteps
coming hard
My muscles tense as I stop all motion
I clench my eyes
I feel my head pumping
The footsteps run by me!
I let out a mouthful of tension
I’m ok
Still undiscovered
Still poised to win
“GAME OVER!”
The yell of victory cascades down the mountain
I feel sick
I have to blink
The footsteps
Greg had won
He ran for it
No tact
No subtly
Stole my victory
Stupid charcoal
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