Pale. A leaf, dried still in the snow. <br />I hug you, half a man now. Shook, <br />lines dug further into your smoky face. <br />You busy the place with packing and <br />a useless conversation of visitors, <br />of your new mobile phone, <br />a gift from the son that couldn't come <br />the week you had your operation. <br />Still hasn't come, he must be very busy. <br />You'll walk you said, no help with <br />those million steps out to the truthful sun. <br />Nurses gather in a flutter, no such thing, <br />a chair glides under you, scoops you up <br />for a play-ride into a changed life. <br /> <br />Always man of men about the town, <br />cigarette aloft, so elegant, sharp as a pin. <br />All those sparkling women, <br />prowlers for the jewel in the pride. <br />Now we take this ride, knowing, <br />silent, but for one wheel's tiny squeak, <br />those days have flown away. <br />The dark red dissector has spoken how <br />you will now live a token life, <br />afraid to laugh too hard, to breathe too deep. <br />With a nervous heave out of the chair, <br />you swish your tailored jacket, raise your form <br />and bravely cough the splutter of the strong.<br /><br />Sonja Broderick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/discharged-patient/
