Pedicure

Pedicure

456 pounds of flesh

            In the ICU

            Mounded up on the bed

There was a man hidden in all that flesh

            Covered in hair and scars and moles and skin grafts

Machined up

Tubed up

Wired up

            Like a failed Borg

            Like an experiment

            Like Frankenstein giving it another go

                        Praying for Lightning

Sedated flesh

            Slowly.

                        Shutting.

                                    Down.

Organs lining up

One by one

For their chance to check out

A mountain of chest

            Swelling

            Contracting

            In rhythm with machine sighs

Death paced the hall

            More impatient than ever

            Its foul stench oozing in

            Toward Kelly’s desk.

Where she measured life

            In beeps, blinks, and blips

Without grimace or contempt or judgment

            Of the fat man in the ICU

Half naked, squeezed into an oversized bed

            Everything in the world

            Too damn small for him

Kelly rummaged around in her bag of compassion

            Dignity looked like clippers

            Honor looked like a file

            A quick pedicure before Death barges in

A generous and unanxious pause

             Between the violence of life

            And the violence of death