The long-distance call came in early evening
A pleasant time for family chat
My father said I have cancer
The final syllables falling into an abyss

How to respond cried my racing thoughts
Two among the stampeding herd
Cary Grant in a screwball comedy
And I lack the skill for my life to imitate art

I lacked the courage to confront the horror
And so opted for project management
Identifying candidates for a second opinion
And venues wherein to obtain the procedure

Or did I lack the feeling to offer words of comfort
To the great fearsome wreck
And is it so that strength of feeling
Must ever yield force of language

Some time later I visited the hospital
And spent some time alone with him
He lapsed frequently into unconsciousness
Occasion for terrifying apnea

Gradually his waking intervals
Outpaced the troubled sleep
And we watched as Tom Glavine
Got himself in and out of trouble

My father lived another ten years
Though plagued with grotesque neuropathy
Plaguing my mother with a million errands
In the three-room apartment

Reader depart
You’ll find no poet in these pages
For I lack the will and the words
Adequate to the occasion