February 27, 2013

Airways

The day I was born,
An old pilot quit smoking.
I heard his last breath.

February 8, 2013

Bob and Lois

On their first date, he'd dropped her off at the post office to mail a letter.

  The room had a window overlooking a pond.

When she came back out, he was gone.

  Quick, labored breaths punctuated by slow groans.

She had nothing. Her purse was the in the back of his car.

  The persistent rattling rising from his throat.

It was late. She'd never been downtown alone at night.

  She started to sing to him, laughing that it might be the scare he needed.

She thought he could be trusted, that he'd be there waiting for her.

  The nurses said it could happen at any moment.

A policeman caught him spinning his tires around the block.

  His teeth were next to his bed.

It was getting cold. Fifteen minutes and no sign of him.

  A nurse said some won't go until the last Social Security check arrives.

Please, officer, I'm begging you. This girl is waiting for me at the post office.

  Her eyes were red from crying and the tissue box was almost empty.

She didn't know what to do. Where was he?

  His hair was light and thin and uncombed.

He pulled up to the post office and she started to scream at him.

  On December 31, his heart stopped.

I trusted you. How could you leave me?

  One nurse said that some hang on until they've been left alone.