ANYTHING, OH, ANYTHING

ByRoger Wallock copyright 2007

Always so strong and now so frail
curled up in a hospital bed, pale
from blood loss,
a fresh gouge
down Dad’s forehead from a
terrible tumble. 
Mortality choking
the antiseptic air
out of the room.
Not prepared to deal with losing
him so soon. 
Desperately trying
to joke, as is our custom
but instead
eyes roll back into his head
from pain medication. 
Behind the
filmy pupils lies shame
for his now so apparent weakness. 
He needs to lead by his
colossal example,
sarcastically teasing the ones he
cares most about,
but fragile flesh
succumbs to Time’s cruel claw
and all he can do is weakly tug
his gown in a vain attempt to
cover his physical flaw. 
The Dylan Thomas in me screams:
“do not go gentle into that good night”
Dad, rise up! 
Punch me playfully in the arm,
let that one tear trickle down
your stubbled cheek from your
disappointment in me,
grab your sticks and let’s go golfing.
Anything, oh anything except
just lying there, groggy from drugs
curled up in a hospital bed, pale
from blood loss.