so we drive to the ER
and walk through triage, past
signs for Emergency Waiting, past
the TV blare of a republic’s
last days–as light fails
beyond the glass and you wear
a casual floral gown
accessorized by EKG leads.
Sure it’s probably nothing,
we chat up nurses and techs,
stare into monitors, pull up
photos of our grandchildren
until tests, pallor, and pulse agree.
We collect paperwork, then
spin through glass doors
into the warm dark of cars and birds
where we coast through roundabouts
as a moon ignites clouds
over our circuits and veins.