Untitled #4

The words in his book
Like the pills from the ward
The spaces of multicolored gowns
Caught between couch cushions
And sitting next to clear plastic cups of water
Optimistically half-full

I almost miss the ones who kept repeating themselves
It was symphonic when they all waddled around
In front of the blaring television set
Muted after lunch

The infrequency of their visits
Even for a week
Helped me make later decisions

To steal dad’s first edition printing
Marked from page to page
With concerns
I found more inspiration in the opinionated errors etched above
Then I did in the corrupted words below

As I said,
They were too much like the pills
Small
Chalky
And easy to swallow

- C.W.