Your chest, hospital gown

Awry, looks

Girlish today,

It is your bluish

Reptile neck

That has known weather.

I said to you: “Are

You ready to die?”

“I am,” you said,

“It’s too boring around

Here.” He has in mind

Some other place

Less boring. “He’s not ready

To go,” the doctor said.

There must have been

A fire that nearly

Blew out, or a large

Soul, inadequately

Feathered, that became

Cold and angered.

Some four-year-old boy

In you, chilled by

Your mother, misprized

By your father, said,

“I will defy, I will

Win anyway, I

Will show them.”

When Alice’s well-

Off sister offered

To take your two

Boys in the Depression,

You said it again.

Now you speak similar

Defiant words to death.

This four-year-old-

Old man in you does

As he likes: he likes

To stay alive.

Through him you

Get revenge,

Persist, endure

Overlive, overwhelm,

Get on top.

You gave me

This, and I do

Not refuse it.

It is

In me.