My horrible September 28th

‘Love you Dad. See you later’

Chirpy words that could prove a lie,

delivered through bubbles to the old man.

My main man in pain, lain on the stretcher.

He’s prepped for urgent surgery and his eyes say it.

My caught sobs say it too. This could be THE goodbye.

Last watery smiles and frightened looks cut short by sliding doors

and then propelled, shoved into minutes and hours

within which life plods on for me, is paused for Dad.

Finally, hours and a long lifetime later:

The call. Relief. For now we go.

Life DOES go on some more.

Freud’s still wrong.