Crumbled

Maybe it's because we hate letting go

That we confine you

To hospital beds.

Maybe we want to hold on

For just a bit longer.



It doesn't matter

That you can barely understand

In your age,

What we say

As you mutter,

Shuddering under the sheets.



Maybe humanity isn't wired

To reconcile

Termination.

It's probably why we hate

Getting fired.

Or athletes hate to retire.



But as we pull up hospital chairs

And sit around

Optimistically,

Gnawing frantically on a crumb of hope

Dropped by the nurse,

It begins to set in:

How long can we do this?

Mash chunks into digestible bits

And force feed you a will

To survive?

You're crying out for God

But our grip won't loosen.



I hate to see you like this:

An array of tubes and fluids

Shoved beneath your

Precious wrinkles.

They said today's your last

And I think this time it's true

As we hang our heads

Staring at the floor

For more crumbs.

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