Love Is a Fragile Nocturn
The male ward is never quiet at night,
machines hooked-up to invisible bodies
buzz and beep.
Someone’s moaning in his sleep.
I listen to the late-shift nurses gossiping
at their station.
Follow their footsteps as they move
from somewhere to some other place.
Every hour she arrives by my bed to check my vitals.
mostly I contrive to be unconscious -
just savoring her gentle touch.
Beds creak as patients turn in their discomfort.
I know what she looks like; petite, lovely.
I got myself stabbed in Kuala Lumpur, my fault,
got too drunk to be careful. It’s 1981
back then China Town could get rough.
I’m planning to marry the Chinese nurse
soon as I am up and about.
Meanwhile the other sick folks here
piss their beds, fart, or cough up a lung,
seemingly hell bent on disturbing
my drug induced fantasies.
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