He’s in a hospital bed.
He pulls wires and tubes
from his ruined arms
at every opportunity.
The nurse tied him
to a chair this morning,
calling him a bad boy.
It’s his last week on earth.
We both know this.
I bring him coffee ice cream
and Salem cigarettes.
He chews the ice cream
like tough steak.
I help him to his feet.
The IV taunts us both.
We walk wordless
to the common area.
I’m wondering if
he’ll pass in his sleep.
He’s wondering why
I’m fumbling
with the matches.
Rust Belt Review
Issue #6
Winter 2021