G O D by Gerard Sarnat

G O D

There was a man who is no more.

At this week’s session, Dr. Godofsky promises
Pops would still be there, just not in real time,
except of course if he’s one of the dead
who don’t want to go on mixing with the living.

God of Sky helps me reel back fond fragments to frame
my memories … Daddy’s LaBron drives to the hoop
with the grace of a god.

It’s so excellent to be in his company again.

Then I gather him in, pale and swollen, barely escaped
from his next to last hospitalization. Year short of one hundred,
he’s nourished by drug soup and an oxygen line.

A fawning male nurse — Father’s newest filial appendage –
shares our usual corned beef (now puréed) and the fraud
its iron’ll decrease a reliance on transfusions.

But since we’re both physicians, Father and I know better;
you never return to golden fields.

A cold breeze blows the surgeon emeritus into my hands.

Now the boss is my baby. Wiping his bunghole,
sometimes I don’t want to be there,
want to shut his hole that makes nasty words.

Ball of fire, everyone rises and sets.

Glory be to Good Old Dad…

There was a man who is no more.

by Gerard Sarnat

Editor’s Note: This poem is less structured than others, but the form mirrors the lack of coherence that many of us face in life and in death. This fragmentation of life is natural, though that doesn’t make it any easier to let go.

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