Jack, the Ending
by Sandra Lindow
I took you out this morning,
I had to; you made me do it,
that cloying, sickroom smell,
and wretched, perpetual cheerfulness,
you all the time gazing out the front window,
your stare vacant, your mind gone.
Be happy you didn't go earlier,
victimized, assaulted by young thugs,
left broken and alone,
expiring along some country road.
I protected you as long as I could,
holding you one last time
against my beating heart; then
the end, swift and painless,
a feathering of snow
on softening golden shards.
Did you enjoy this poem?
Send your raves (or rants) to: