face down
in bed
sheets and
chucks changed
as he can’t hold
enough air
to eat or walk
or sleep
but just stare
into space.
his daughters
framed by iPad
weeping his
bed frame rails
up to keep
him from falling
his future framed
by breaths left
as he says his goodbyes
while he can still
talk It sounds like
the future
isn’t too bright
he says between
gasps before
propofol dreams
of a simpler
time without
restrictions without
virus without
needless death
without—
three days later
his life ends
as we take out
the breathing tube.
