Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Coma

Sleet on the turnpike
in the middle of the night 
but I keep driving,
both hands on the wheel,
nowhere to pull off,
and a yellow bus
comes over the line
and kisses my truck.
That's all I remember.
Now I'm in bed,
wired to things,
unable to move,
listening to a doctor 
telling my wife,
"It's been two weeks,
no improvement."
He asks her nicely
if we should let him go,
the dimwit bastard.
If I could, I'd scream 
but I can't even
wiggle my toes.


Donal Mahoney

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