Day: March 5, 2019

I sat on a bench in the hospital

Courtyard, drinking a mocha latte,

And wondering why people

Are so unhealthy, in such

Constant need of medical intervention.

I was waiting for my wife,

Who was having some kind of test,

And I began to weep, but silently,

So the man a few feet away

Wouldn’t give me a look.

Wouldn’t think there had been bad news,

Or even death.

What would my wife think if she came

At that moment, that I had

Lost control of my faculties?

That she’d have me on her hands

For how many years?

Bursting into tears over nothing.

Feeling profoundly sad every

Time I looked around.

But I was thinking about the

Woman being pushed in a wheelchair,

And the man moving slowly

Along with the aid of a cane,

And I thought about our dog,

Lying in her favorite place

On her bed in a corner of the room.

I have never heard her complain

Although she is getting old,

And the time will come when

My wife and I will look at each other and say,

Is it time? Will we arrive at that point

Through a rational process,

Through reasoned discussion,

Or will we be smothered in

Bursts of feeling, the kind

That come over you without warning,

The kind of truth that we foolishly bury,

Believing that it will never

Be dug up.
 

 © Dennis Hathaway

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