Hospice

Their eyes weep, 

Turning their heads to watch us

Silent mouths gaping for help, membraned tongues coil 
Canyons knitted around their grey ears
Cold hands, thin-skinned eyes wreathed in gloss, scattered memories, 
They're lost in their own hallways, 
And whisper 'no' to the helping hands, wave away
the soiled sheets
And beckon to other's visitors 
(They don't belong to them) 
(They don't care)
Shaking convulsions 
Squelching cries, they want anybody
Anybody 
To call them grandpa, grandma, auntie or uncle, 
Mom or dad. 
Do they know they're going to die?
I once read that you can tell
When you can no longer make a fist, that's when they say,
'Send a nurse'. 
 
This poem is about: 
Our world

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