It is hard to hear
what you are telling me,
what secrets you hold
from undistracted rigidity
and fluffed up pillows -
Your room is a sanctuary,
a spacious collage
of the last walk of life
and I come to med you,
crushed narcotics
in thick, yellow pudding
and I come to feed you
thru a rubber tube,
a four by four dressing,
attached to your belly -
Like a frightened animal
you solemnly retreat
'I am dying, you tell me, '
yellowed skin
muted by parched lips and sunken eyes
I want to stop this walk of death
I want to scream the lessened
dignity of a man in diapers,
bed sores that will not heal,
and a small televison on all night.
Louise Marie DelSanto
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/last-walk-of-life/
