For his end time,
we flocked together from our compass points,
and gathered by his bedside.
Like the fresh faces on Auntie Em’s farm
after Dorothy’s dream.
In his life, he must have dreamt us
into something that held him happy
until this day.
His plugs and wires and tubes
seemed connected to an underground cloud,
and what it fed to him was bitter.
Today was his day for the punching of tickets,
like Tom Hanks on the Polar Express.
But, inspirational? Not so much.
Each one showed our other face
just as we were looking at his,
and we wanted to plug our ears
as he spewed secrets
that we dismissed as drug-induced,
but knew to be true.
And what do you do with the Never Dids,
the filthy kids and the hiding hids?
The thrown cans of salmon
and the smashing plates.
Oh God, we were sorry,
and a group hug just wasn’t in the cards.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.