Waiting for the shrill ring of the phone, 
Which promises ebullient or nasty news, 
I think of you, 
And the childhood joys we've shared. 

The usual strain of tug-of-war, 
From grabbing for parental favors
And all the struggles in between…
Some justified, 
Others not so much.

I know not what the future holds. 
Will you dangle from tubes and wires
Like a marionette,

Your life in suspension 
Filled with liquids 
I cannot pronounce,
Strangers making 
Medical decisions for you, 

A roulette guess
As to where the ball will fall.
Black, red, even or odd?

Maybe you’re somewhere 
Between here and there,
With loved ones begging you 
To join them,
Perhaps a white light telling you that
It’s your time and day. 

Or will you have to stay 
Here among the living 
With your tired corpse,
Your body like tattered rags, 
Old clothes that don't fit anymore. 

Maybe nature will
Take you to a better place 
Where you can gaze down 
On those of us who still remain
Forever washing old and tired clothes.

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