We used matches to draw lots; who would visit him. And I lost. I got up from our table. Visiting hours were just about to start. When I said hello he didn't say a word. I tried to take his hand--he pulled it back like a hungry dog that won't give up his bone. He seemed embarrassed about dying. What do you say to someone like that? Our eyes never met, like in a faked photograph. He didn't care if I stayed or left. He didn't ask about anyone from our table. Not you, Barry. Or you, Larry. Or you, Harry. My head started aching. Who's dying on whom? I went on about modern medicine and the three violets in a jar. I talked about the sun and faded out. It's a good thing they have stairs to run down. It's a good thing they have gets to let you out. It's a good thing you're all waiting at our table. The hospital smell makes me sick. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA by HENRY HOWARD THE ROPEWALK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE ELF CHILD by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS THE BOBBIN-WINDER by JOSEPHINE ELIZABETH ARCHER EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 24. COMPLIANCE IN LOVE by PHILIP AYRES |