Heard it was touch-and-go for a while.
Still looked touch-and-go
to me, machines pumping
existence into her
through plastic tubes.
Too damn bad. Pretty girl.
Not so pretty now, Dad,
head to toe black-and-blue,
and shattered framework,
facing uncertain healing.
Hard to believe we just partied together.
He really didn’t get it,
turned back to his TV. I
went to the refrigerator,
held my breath, looked inside.
Sorry, not much in there.
Moldy cheese, outdated
milk, peanut butter, and
soggy celery. I found an apple,
soft, but edible. Almost sweet.
We could go out to dinner.
My brain claimed I was
crazy to even consider such
a thing. But my insistent
stomach won the day.
McD’s okay?
One Hour
Tons of tasteless, useless, meaningless
food and conversation later,
two rounded, roiling