Gathered in the bright lit room
glass walled sun streaming over
them - a flippin froze-family frieze
smiling rictus grins as the surgeon
took his seat behind that wide desk
between them - with softly steepling
fingers -strangle-slayed all possibility
of prayers, promises and pleas-as he
spoke statistics - sonorously, reaching
to flick the death illuminator switch to On
-his blank white wall igniting - Satan-scans
sprung- stained indelibly -circled super orbs
glowing relentless radioactive prognostication
Odd how dark a bright-lit-sun-spilled-silent-room
can become cold - when science speaks its sentence.
Pearl, I think this is a shining poem among many great ones. It is special -- in conten and form. The combination of the harshness of the "sentence" and the softness of the feelings is so touching!
ReplyDeleteWhat an ending! Wow.
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