JON BALES DYING
Your once handsome face
had morphed into a mask of dry leather.
You were hard to look at.
Yet your eyes were still an improbable blue
that could have sucked in the dead.
I was lying next to you
in your hospital bed
your elbow pressed against my side
I could tell you were freezing.
I was reading to you
from Breakfast At Tiffany’s
you picked at the little growths
on your face.
The night nurse came in
abruptly turned and left.
In a voice sounding like
you had smoked too many cigarettes
“If looks could kill, we would both be dead.”
September 11, 2015