Expensive Care

Expensive Care

He horked a mucoid wad of phlegm
Up from his remaining lung
And thought how things were bad for him
Since that first draw when he was young.

The flesh is rotting off his bones,
And the air, there is not enough
But every time he is left alone
He sneaks just one more puff.

The last time he was on the vent
They jammed a tube down past his lung
To push in hot air, without a scent
To painfully expand his lung.

Sometimes in the cycle the tube would block
His eyes would widen in mortal fear
But strong skilled hands would bag him fast
And suck the obstruction clear

The tube to his bladder would cause a spasm
Whenever his leg was moved
The tube to his stomach hurt his throat
A pain no narcotic could soothe

Kept on going despite his weak protests
The machine kept pushing air
A quiet death is a long slow process
In a place called Expensive Care

The machine would whoosh
His body washed
And turned from side-to-side
They kept that up for weeks on end
Long after he had died.

David F. King
UNB Fredericton, 1997