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.
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