The Ring

 

 

He lay in bed this morning
for hours feeling sheets
just a smidge of consciousness
the body still, at ease.

Dream bits on the blanket
unremembered fluff
he rested there for hours
then managed to get up.

Oh, the days of Charlemagne
swords flashing and the cheers
screams like doors to heaven
they barbeque up here?

If he can slide to coffee
lean on down the hall
once again some recompense,
survival, fix, et al.

Then stumble to the living room
hobble over there
press some buttons
5.1

and settle the great chair.

Sip at last the filtered bean
watch the circle grow
remember all the angels here
and then the dawn

just so.

Upon his brow
He slept last night!

Ohhh. Oh Ohhhh. Oh Oh.

This could be the ball game
he looks up, asks his Dad
who went there a few years ago
except no brew

rather

shots of morphine and a truck
bright red, blinking tines.

So this must be the minor leagues
bag balls, go chalk the lines.