David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

Kay's White Roses


Your winter roses are in bloom
I see them from your living room
How odd to see their bursting buds
Along your driveway’s frozen mud;

They dip their white carnation heads
While in the cold earth you lie dead;
It dares to grow and even thrive
Heedless that you don’t survive;

The cold air smokes my cloudy breath
I sense your absence, your flailing death;
White roses recall our temporal doom;
The empty driveway that they festoon;

How unattractive bobs the flower
In the cold rains early shower
I see your grey-tooth rotted grin,
'Won't your wife and you step in.'

But then you fell on the cement
And knocked your head, a bloody rent
Your purpse to secure junk mail
Which was destined for the garbage pail;

You lost the power to get up and walk
You became an infant who couldn't talk;
You soiled yourself in your bed
Your dignity rose up and fled.

The circle had become complete
I squeeezed your cold and bony feet;
Helpless on your bed sore back;
You could not rise, your body slack.

Submitted: Thursday, November 07, 2013
Edited: Saturday, November 09, 2013

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