life support

the drizzle never

thickened into rain.

if I stood close to the wall

in the garden or the window

of the hospital gift shop

when I went out to smoke,

my hair got just a little damp.

his wrists were tied with

cotton ribbons to the bed rails.

to keep him from pulling out

the IV needles in his arms

or the catheter in his penis.

that’s what he wanted to do.

even though his words had

turned to meaningless mush

the pain was clear enough

in the gibberish. i think he

was crying for his mama.

the machines were assisting

his breathing and his heart.

his wife said i hate this,

are we just going to sit here

for days, waiting for him to die?

so the doctor or the nurse

i don’t remember who,

shut off the devices.

and he slept, his heart beat

slowly for hours and then

in the briefest moment, it stopped.

and he was still warm,

still quiet, still there as if

he wasn’t really gone.

there were forms to sign

before we silently rode

the elevator to the lobby.

we stood under the entry portico

while the men fetched the cars

because the midnight drizzle

had finally thickened into rain.