I wish I could rub a genie’s lamp
the way I tenderly
rubbed your feet
after a long day of work—
then I would wish
for 3 things:
for another
lifetime with you—then one more—
and then an encore!
How I miss your stroking
my face, your juicy
kisses…
Here there’s only news
of knees gone bad,
of plaque in veins.
of blooming hemorrhoids.
Nothing of gardens,
of peonies in their prom gowns.
The books have print
as big as eye charts.
I can’t read billboards, I complained.
“Use the computer.
You can adjust fonts there,” a nurse said.
I’m on the waiting list.
By the time I get to use it
you’ll be a patient here.
“Patience, Mr. Bradshaw.
No special treatment here.”
“Shove a…!” Her answer?
A pill in a paper cup.
I slump into my wheelchair,
slip into dreams
of our life together.
Come summer I’ll email you
love letters, secret ones,
hidden in your cloud.
F—k it. For now I keep
my jaws open. Drool,
I tell myself. Show them
you’re willing to fit
in.
