JON BALES DYING

 

 

 

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