Tuesday, May 21, 2024



We’re all born screaming

The louder the better

Pink and wet and wiggling

The doctor writes down the scores

And says everything is fine

A proud dad jabs his healthy

Baby boy into the ether 

Death has a different kind of scale

Quiet and pale and unstruggling

Chests like boats in a calm harbor

Morphine or delirium have erased 

All trace of grimace 

Everything has already been said

A semi circle of bowed heads

But I’m afraid I’ll go out fighting

Heart pounding, eyes aflame 

Driving everyone from the room 

Crash carts, code blue

An elderly equivalence to ashen stillborn infants

My dying score a perfect 0

With 5 minutes and then 1 minute left


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