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DAD

My father's
Gray face
Is fogged by
Venetian blinds.
His hopless
Blinks are set
To the beep
Of machines.
Tubes web
From nose
To bottle
To arm.

Flashing screens
Spew lined paper
Into an

Organized heap.
Alarms ring out
NO ADMITTANCE.

Nurses become like ants
Scattering
Everywhere.

Freshly inked paper
Spills Out the door
With one straight line
Across it.
His eyes

See nothing now
But the
Endless ring
Of the

Heart machine
That burns in
My ears.