Doctors played your dosage like a card-trick,
scrabbled down the hallways yelling “Yahtzee!”
I brought books on Hopper, and the Arctic,
something called “The Politics of Lonely,”
a toothbrush and a quick-pick with the plus.
You tried not to roll your sunken eyes,
and said, “Hey can you help me, I can’t reach it.”
Pointed at the camera in the ceiling.
I climbed up, blocked it so they couldn’t see.
Turned to find you out of bed, and kneeling.
Before the nurses came, took you away,
I stood there on a chair and watched you pray.
