I heard her groan
from the spasstic movements
of her legs, that old army wound
acting up again
breaking sleep from dead of night
drove her to the kitchen light
coffee and cigarettes, at one time,
I'd join her in the painful wake
now days she refuses, declines my
sleepy company, for radio,
talk shows or TV satelite
and ninety channels that glow at night
all these aids and we grow apart.
pain and suffering are done alone
neither science or compassion console
the pain of others, body and soul
come back to bed-soon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem