way poem #9: poor saturations

how much oxygen
in your fingers?

one hundred per cent sat
ninety-five

how your lungs must work so
when you love your cigarettes
do you know
that this is dying
I wonder
do you care

light another cigarette
old friend of mine
old fool

~

how much oxygen
in your fingers?

eighty-eight percent sat
eighty-three

feel the world start closing in
but still
another cigarette
will help to clear your head
let me light you up
old idiot old friend
I can see you’re fading
anyway

~

how much oxygen
in your fingers?

sixty-five percent sat
down
to thirty-eight

and you don’t feel much like cigarettes
with an ambulance in your doorway
to put the mask across your face
try to breathe
while the machine’s still yelping
breathe
for life is all there is
dear boy

~

how much dioxide
in your fingers?

I fear
there is no room
there is no room
for
anymore


© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #34: secrets


R.I.P Brian. Died 20/10/2016, aged younger than me.

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2 thoughts on “way poem #9: poor saturations

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