The bad bad day

I’m a blue man he says to me,

speaking to the ceiling.

I pull my chair closer to his bed,

cupping his cold hand.

His swollen face lolls in my direction,

eyes like a slot machine.

I’m locked in the freezer. Get the keys!

I hang my head, squeezing his hand harder.

Why don’t you answer?

God damn (I think). God damn. Please.

Here. Are you cold? Let me get another blanket.

(I hear a noise from the hall. A cart clatters by. A door slams.)

Bang, bang, bang. Three distinct bangs.

Are you warmer now?

(The slots have stopped on Two Spades)

Ah haaaa. Ah haaaa.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. Let him go soon.

When it’s my time, let it be a heart attack.

5 Comments

      1. gizzylaw

        You lost him so early. I was 32, headed to law school, when I lost my mother. A six week vigil. The words have never left for me, either. Do you realize what an amazing writer you are? I hope so. You hit home with almost every post.

        Liked by 1 person

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