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Poetry Magnum Opus

The Hospital Visit


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Darling, honey, we need to speak of your funeral;

I've just been on the phone to Monsignor McNeill

And they seem to want such ... well, so much money.

Mercenary was the thought that crossed my mind

Since their church is really quite empty on weekdays:

I think we can dispense with the RC service.


I seethe in my coma, this twittering bitch,

Serena, my second ill-chosen wife, mother

Of none of my children, Thank the Lord for that,

Sits here, smiling, perched beside my hospital bed,

In a happy flush of exaltation: I twitch,

But she knows I cannot speak.


I shall keep the house in town, she says,

But I plan to sell off your stamp collection;

The books you've collected for the last forty years

Can be sold off, I'm sure, in a job lot.

I'll wipe clean the computer, of course,

And shred all the files of your silly poems.


A ping and sudden peak in the monitor

Is the only reaction that shows; comatose,

My defeated body lies flat on the bed;

I pray to God for a surge of strength,

to allow me to rise from this bed like a Titan,

and smash to pieces her evil head.

Oh, my dear, you seem to be quite upset,

that unbecoming bulge in your bloodshot eyes;

I suppose it can hardly come as a surprise

Since the doctor says the cock winds down

Even on the most robust constitution; my resolution

Suggests Spain with my hairdresser Germain.


The monitor pings.


Your children from your previous marriage

Have expressed some wish to see you;

I said there was really no cause for alarm

(Ill-founded concern can cause such harm)

So they won't be coming, darling, so sorry. PU?

PU, an incoming text on my mobile phone.


Ping, ping, ping.


PU? Please Understand? Unveil … Undress?

Germain's such a tease, he can often fail

To understand the nuances of language;

But he's a Demon Little Big Boy in Bed!!!

The influence of anguish, the soft caress:

Oh, another message! … it reads, <Pisse Uff!>


God, in the end, came through,

And I rose up from the bed with a leonine roar,

Lifted her bodily from the floor, and ….


The patient had fallen from bed to a chair

When he died; his wife, in an access of despair

Seems to have thrown herself from the window.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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An entertaining read and concept, Brendan. This one's like one of those short stories with a twist, like something from "Creepshow," "Tales from the Darkside," or even one of Rod Serling's classic "Twilight Zone" or "Night Gallery" episodes. There's some real "poetic justice" in the end, lol.



Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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