"The man in the next bed died last night,"
are the first words out of Ted’s mouth.
"And the guy in the next room early this morning."
To Ted, it's more like a funeral home than a hospital
except, in this ward, the undertakers get the corpses prematurely.
He has no doubt that he'll be next
despite the medical staff’s comforting words.
He gives us permission to start with the mourning
though not to count and divide up his pennies just yet.
He's always been a pessimist.
Within the white walls of the room,
he can give his pessimism full rein.
Ted hasn't requested his priest.
And certainly not a lawyer.
And he didn't even ask for his family to show.
But here we are, listening deathlessly
to his death reports.
He calls it that
once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity
to have no more lifetime.
Then he dozes off.
And lives some more while he’s about it.
-
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.
