uncle johnny won't die

you had an uncle
who wouldn't die.
uncle johnny.
he had been sick for
a long time.
a long list of ailments
could be rattled
off by your aunt
luna, his wife, but
you don't remember
the exact cause
of his death when
it finally came.
sometimes you'd visit
and his eyes would
be closed, the machines
would be beeping,
and humming away,
showing that he was
still alive. his old
feet, like boney fish
would be sticking
out from the sheets
at the end of his bed.
a young doctor would come
in with a chart
and whisper something
like, it's not good.
his circulation worries me.
he's not going to
last through the week.
but then he'd wake
up and say your name, put
his blue veined hand
out to shake your hand.
how are you, he'd
say, how are the mets
doing? then he'd drift
back off to sleep
in mid sentence.
other days, you'd
visit and he'd be
sitting up eating
jello from a plastic
cup, watching television.
I need a haircut he'd
say, holding a spoon
up to see his reflection.
how can I make a move
on these nurses with
my hair like this?
after a few months
of this, he was exhausted.
we were exhausted.
death just would not
come. what's taking it
so long, he said one
day as he was flipping
through the channels
on the tv. why am I still
here. they keep telling
me soon, soon. what the
hell is going on here?
I'm ready for crying out loud.
I'm just laying here.
there's nothing on
tv. three hundred
channels and all I
watch is judge judy.
why is she yelling at
everyone all the time?
what's wrong with her.
she never let's anyone
talk. your aunt would
say calm down johnny,
you're going to have a
stroke. oh really, he'd
say. a stroke, huh?
oh, maybe then I might die.
give me a break. which
is finally to everyone's
relief what happened
three weeks later.