Saturday, January 21, 2012

In Memory

Old beliefs die hard,
My friend.
The workers paradise
And all
The glorious future
You once invested with
Hopes and dreams.
Mere objects that have
Stumbled into the furnace
(Like that stupid sled
At the movie's end).

During the waning days
You often asked me
To close a window
That wasn't there
While you enjoyed,
In your hospital bed,
A pleasant bus ride
Down Fifth Avenue.

I spared you from
The priest you didn't want
(But only because you
Had to beat the doctor's
Estimate – patience may not
Have been your biggest virtue).

Once the bed was stripped
And empty,
I was left with many things.
Old clothes and socks
And many, many clocks
(None of which were in