Poem by Louis Zoellar Bickett

September 21st, 2015  |  Published in September 2015





Your once handsome face

had morphed into a mask of dry leather.

You were hard to look at.

Yet your eyes were still an improbable blue

that could have sucked in the dead.


I was lying next to you

in your hospital bed

your elbow pressed against my side

I could tell you were freezing.


I was reading to you

from Breakfast At Tiffany’s

you picked at the little growths

on your face.


The night nurse came in

abruptly turned and left.

In a voice sounding like

you had smoked too many cigarettes

you said


“If looks could kill, we would both be dead.”




September 11, 2015

Comments are closed.