Siren At Three In the Morning

Siren at Three in the Morning


You want to abide by custom
but what kind of card
do you send 
a man of those years
swept through the night
in a riot of snow
and wet streets
to a hospital quit
one month ago,
a fifth of his gut left, 
that eaten through?


Donal Mahoney
Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

Poem

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