"She's now on thirty different meds."

Then neither of us spoke.

"Twenty-nine of g'damned drugs!
and none of them would work..."

I couldn't think of one blessing
that would make his heart unbroke.

"She started chemotherapy."

He offered this, like that was hope.

"Maybe that will help," I said.

"We both know it won't."

I heard his lighter click the time
as he inhaled his tears in smoke.

"We'll see you soon. We're coming home--
but now? I wanna watch my show."

I told him that I couldn't wait,
that I would pray and do good work...

Silence once again, and then
a warning to expect the worst:

"Hide your eyes," he weary-spoke,
"without me? You would not know her.
She's changed--she doesn't look the same,
she's..." dying?
but he coughed and cursed.

"I love you" I said to the phone,
too late, for he was all alone
related by the drone-dial tone

in echoes

ohhhhhhhhs

sustained

the moan.

* * *

"Oh my..." I said.

I shut the phone

ducking the shadow overhead;

the wings of circlings of dread:

It shivers me my bones.

* * *