Cheering the dying

I’ll stay a minute; you should have a nurse
put these in water, or they’ll not — last.
I would have come in yesterday — what’s worse
than promises unkept? You’d be aghast

how often people promise to turn up;
and when time comes, they’re nowhere to be found.
The man came to repair the furnace—
souviens-toi, that awful roaring sound?

Four hours at eighty per— shush: it’s just money:
your heart could go again; I’d have to sell
the house to make ends meet, Honey—
anyway, I’d rather live in — well,

I have to go. It’s been nice seeing you,
but hospitals depress me, and I’ve not been—
Don’t want to bother you with too
many of my problems, but it seems a sin

to waste the lower section , so I was thinking
of selling off just a little of the farm,
enough to let me get off to far Bejing
or some exotic spa, away and warm.

Don’t fuss, Honey: I’ll call the nurse
to fix the flowers before you’re any worse.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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