There you are.
Laid out so neatly,
(you were never anything neatly,
In your taped up sandals).
Under crisp white sheets and hospital corners.
Careful, though full of care.
But not neatly,
For do overs,
it is much the preference… or paint over.
I can stand here,
And look at you (I have stood here for days).
But I cannot touch you,
not now.
I will carry on from here,
“Thanks”
One less painful thing –
Without knowing the coolness of your skin.
They want to take your blue, blue eyes-
We said they could.
But in the end –
Some joke played by an answering machine,
Left them with you.
I think I am glad of that.
That you were too late, again.
But, you couldn’t have waited,
One more hour, (this night,… That night).
We were on our way in… To see you sleeping,
To see you rocked gently by a hospital bed.
You know…
The first thing I wrote about you was “not an easy man to love”.
But here, there, then,
Looking down at you,
I suppose you spared us something,
Spared us that-
Not to watch you Passover.
From all that pulling of breath…
to…
not.
I think I am glad of that too,
Now.
We had to talk to the Docs on the first night.
Tell them “no”,
That it was okay.
Your little old body,
Sodden by years,
And your blood,
Tricked by medication,
into not clotting.
It was about the size of a lemon,
By the pictures on the computer screen.
Front, right hand side, higher function, personality, memory and…
We thought it was food poisoning.
But that’s why you had been sick.
We thought you’d be out in a week.
So we pulled out that disgusting old kitchen.
The second night we said no to the antibiotics.
The third didn’t see the return of the feeding tube.
We had that beautiful moment.
We three at your bed.
And you looked at us.
You cried one tear.
Smiled one smile.
I am so glad of that,too,
Though it brings a lump to my throat,
And wets my eyes.
You know, you smell, awful.
But you get use to it,
One gets use to it.
The lilies didn’t have a chance.
You were asleep nearly a week,
We avoided saying Comer.
Then, you slip away again… Into the long night.
And that smell, of “organic processes”.
You slipping away again,
One more reminder that you are going,
Quickly, and slowly, in so many ways.
And tomorrow, we put you in a box,
And into the fire.
And you will be gone again,
In another way.
And of course we get used to it, one gets used to it.
We will acclimatise to your absence,
Again.
I hope you hear in these words,
How angry I am,
How I will miss you,
And how I love you.
Par.
In your taped up sandals).
Under crisp white sheets and hospital corners.
Careful, though full of care.
But not neatly,
For do overs,
it is much the preference… or paint over.
I can stand here,
And look at you (I have stood here for days).
But I cannot touch you,
not now.
I will carry on from here,
“Thanks”
One less painful thing –
Without knowing the coolness of your skin.
They want to take your blue, blue eyes-
We said they could.
But in the end –
Some joke played by an answering machine,
Left them with you.
I think I am glad of that.
That you were too late, again.
But, you couldn’t have waited,
One more hour, (this night,… That night).
We were on our way in… To see you sleeping,
To see you rocked gently by a hospital bed.
You know…
The first thing I wrote about you was “not an easy man to love”.
But here, there, then,
Looking down at you,
I suppose you spared us something,
Spared us that-
Not to watch you Passover.
From all that pulling of breath…
to…
not.
I think I am glad of that too,
Now.
We had to talk to the Docs on the first night.
Tell them “no”,
That it was okay.
Your little old body,
Sodden by years,
And your blood,
Tricked by medication,
into not clotting.
It was about the size of a lemon,
By the pictures on the computer screen.
Front, right hand side, higher function, personality, memory and…
We thought it was food poisoning.
But that’s why you had been sick.
We thought you’d be out in a week.
So we pulled out that disgusting old kitchen.
The second night we said no to the antibiotics.
The third didn’t see the return of the feeding tube.
We had that beautiful moment.
We three at your bed.
And you looked at us.
You cried one tear.
Smiled one smile.
I am so glad of that,too,
Though it brings a lump to my throat,
And wets my eyes.
You know, you smell, awful.
But you get use to it,
One gets use to it.
The lilies didn’t have a chance.
You were asleep nearly a week,
We avoided saying Comer.
Then, you slip away again… Into the long night.
And that smell, of “organic processes”.
You slipping away again,
One more reminder that you are going,
Quickly, and slowly, in so many ways.
And tomorrow, we put you in a box,
And into the fire.
And you will be gone again,
In another way.
And of course we get used to it, one gets used to it.
We will acclimatise to your absence,
Again.
I hope you hear in these words,
How angry I am,
How I will miss you,
And how I love you.
Par.
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