2003-05-08
2003-05-08 - 1:29 p.m.
Digging around today on my office hard drive, I discovered this. Takes me back. Background history coming later today.
On the night of your fever Fourteen blue butterfly needles, plastic guides bent back like wings lie forgotten on the cold tile floor. A white coat�s voice plummets down the outer hall, another rubber sole scurries in. They fall on you like crows stripping an old husk of leathery corn. I ask if you hurt too much�
you�re in pain but is it too much�
you don�t reply, you haven�t spoken since the car keys� clink. I washed the thermometer, dressed you, drove.
In a corner the television shimmies; it�s tuned to the final seinfeld. Jerry and George and Elaine and Kramer complete their long-advertised exit. Back against the smooth wall, I watch you, then the screen flicker as shapes move on the surface, I watch as you decide to live or die on the night your fever topped one hundred and five.
Comments: Speak your piece!
former / latter
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