Sunday, May 7, 2017

Sunday Poem

Count to Ten

There are things I could do
But none of them will help you
I could excise that tumor with my knife
But it will not save your life.
It’s spread; you’re infested,
Surgery should not have been suggested.

I was called because they always call.
It is up to me to say things like “infested”
To tell you what the others cannot.
They defer to my judgment
Someone must do what cannot be said:
Snatch the terminus of an unwinding thread.

Now let us close the door
And dim the lights.
I’m going to take a seat right here.
Close our eyes and count to ten
And then count again

That was twenty from ten
Shall we carve out another block of time
Like initials into an old oak, a forgotten forest from youth?
Will we get closer to the truth?
What was her last name again?

The IV alarms
Tubing occluded
Sir, you must straighten your arm
Let us count one more time
I know it is hard
You need not speak, just listen to my voice:
One, two, three…
When I get to ten
You can open your eyes
Will I still be here?
Will the lights be on?
Will you still be trapped between dusk and dawn?


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