i go visit my boy jake,
at the local ICU
facility.
his head is wrapped like a turban
in white gauze.
they've cut him open to stop the bleeding.
his eye is black.
he's grey and brown, bruised,
his leathery skin
is drawn
tight and loose at the same time,
he's immobile, tethered
to the humming machines,
but he's still here.
he laughs when i come in.
i guess you're not working today
i tell him.
no, he says, maybe tomorrow.
the nurse spoons some apple sauce
into his mouth,
then the juice.
i tell him about the job. i can see
in his eyes
that he wants to be out there,
brush in hand.
on a ladder, smoking, cursing,
whistling at girls
walking by in
their summer dresses.
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