At a Bank of Elevators

Reunions can happen 
and leave you speechless.
I’m standing at a bank 

of elevators in a hospital
going to visit my wife 
when a wheelchair rolls up

carrying my internist 
from years ago.
An excellent doctor

who retired to teach,
according to rumors.
Now he’s pushed by a woman

I assume is his wife.
She looks sad 
and he looks worse.

He asks how I’m doing
and I say not bad.
I ask how he’s doing 

and he says he’s dying.
And adds that he hopes 
I never have to.

He says he never realized  
despite his patients  
dying could be so hard.


Donal Mahoney
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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Pigeon Tart Avatar
February 22, 2017 at 3:44 PM
Excellent poem, it's ease and simplicity carrying such weight. A 7 xomo
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