Apgars
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
5/21/24
No comments:
Post a Comment