One Hundred Eight Miles From a Hospital Bed

“Hi there,

     how are y--”

“I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

Show your teeth,

“Be right back.”

 

Busted soda fountain

drips

plink--

 

plink--

morphine IV bag slow.

 

Sharp inhale, 

shoulders spring 

up to ears -

a hand at your back,

 

“Little jumpy today?”

“Sorry.

     Just tired.”

 

Three steps and

squuiit--

ketchup packet underfoot

 

plat--

plat--

scarlet footprints in your wake

 

Mirror by the muffins and a

grubby toddler points,

mouths

“I

seeeeeee

you.”

 

swallow. smile.

 

One o’clock,

the pulse slows,

ketchup stains coagulate

on the tile.

 

“She’s going to die.”

 

“I’msorrywhat?”

 

Painted lips purse,

plucked brows raise a question,

 

“I said you forgot my fries.”

 

Cheekbones burn -

“Be right back.”