Forty-one.


Careful Not To Let It Happen Again

Walking down the hall
of my apartment building
it hit before
I reached outside.
The man
across the hall
brought me back--
forty-two, sweaty, he'd
learned CPR only last weekend.
My first new sight
his blue suit jacket
crumpled in the corner,
decrepit on a floor
the colour of
your forgotten eyes.

Now, I fill colouring books and
wander the halls. I have caused
two separate fire drills
because I can still read
the handle
"PULL."

To fool the nurses
I hide pillows
in my bed-sheets and
sneak outside.
Once, it took
an entire
afternoon of searching
to find me sitting
beside
the oak tree
watching turtles,

but outside is not good for me. I
died once and we
have to be careful
not to let it happen again.

- David Parsons