Trapped in your Lazarus’ cage,
you shake the bars of your rage
and hiss and curse
the nurse
the drip
and me
sitting beside you
helpless, but not helping -
‘Allow me a vestige of independence please? ’
Your good side claws at the sheet,
your frog voice struggles
to spit
the venom
that once flowed so effortlessly.
‘No! No! No!
Jesus F-cking Christ! ! ! ’
Then suddenly
you are asleep again -
the deep sleep of the stroke dead
And I ache to wake you.
Alison Cassidy