the slow loss,
the leaking away.
one’s demise is
not very interesting.
from my bed I
watch 3 birds through the east window:
one coal black,
one dark brown, the
other yellow.
as night falls I
watch the red lights on the bridge blink on and off.
I am stretched
out in bed with the covers up to my chin.
I have no idea
who won at the racetrack today.
I must go back
into the hospital tomorrow.
why me?
why not?