Friday, February 24, 2006

The Second Visit


A poem by a friend of mine, Ken Brewer, dying of cancer.

The Second Visit

This night he wears a red dress,that sleek Flapper style for dancing,
and a Flapper hat low on his face
though I can see black-curled eyelashes.
Red heels and red gloves, small red
Purse hanging from one shoulder. "Sharp," I say.

Death turns as if to blush. Imagine that,
I think, Death blushing at a compliment.
Then he crosses his legs, smiles,
asks, "About time, don't you think?"
And I do, but I say nothing yet.
Bedridden, bloated with Ascites, no tux, no bow tie.

"What did you wear for my mother?" I ask.
"Beige tent dress with a light brown collar,
beige sandals, a white orchid in my hair,"
he said. "Nice touch," I said. I wasn't
bargaining this time and would dance if I must.
But Death smiled and left. I'll guess bib-overalls next.

4 comments:

Pixletwin said...

Great visual to accompany a stirring anecdote.

pepektheassassin said...

Ken is a Utah Laurette poet -- a state deal, not USPS.

pepektheassassin said...

PS You an find him on the web.

pepektheassassin said...

Soon after his diagnosis he wrote: "Death sits on the side of my bed, skirt hiked to hair line, says, "Hi, Handsome, dance with me?"

Reminds me of some of my own, written thirty years ago...