Sunday and Poppy
There he sat-
a gray bearded
man,
ash tray full
of dingy
generic cancer
sticks,
room dimly lit
and glazed with
a urinary odor
and
yellow tinge.
Eyes-
doused with love
and
excitement.
Beard-
clean, crisp,
and groomed.
Hands-
swollen with fluid
and shaky.
Our habitual Sunday
meeting,
card games, ice
tea,
terrible treats
and connective conversation.
The thief of time
stole the hours
Mom and Dad called
"Let's go..."
A kiss, a hug,
a departing smile
closing in on
the hallway,
towards the door,
a grand force
stopped me,
a tear cleared
my eye
I ran back,
hugged and kissed
him as
my eyes rained
and I cried out
"I love you Pop!"
We left.
Next weekend,
He died!
