Surgery
My dad reveals the reason for his pain
Veins bulge out of the tissue
Veins create a bridge over the tissue
One bridge stretches like the Golden Gate
Stretches over the bay of muscle and tissue below it
Except it’s clogged
Always rush hour
If the jam restricts oxygen
His heart rate jumps as oxygen decreases
No ski trip into the thin mountain air
Then, the kicker
He’s having open heart surgery
He’s 46. Not 70.
Not old enough.
Not frail enough.
So young in comparison.
February 2016.
I’m enjoying my Saturday.
My dad is at the hospital
The surgery is likely to go well
He’s not old enough to suffer complications
Those who don’t make it are old
They have more than just a bad heart
Nerves. Nerves. Calm.
I take my mind off it.
I’m glad I have no control.
The surgery is over. My dad did great.
A few days in the hospital.
He goes home to a recliner even I’m jealous of.
A year later, he’s healing well
He’s back to himself
No chest pain

I really liked the personal aspect of this poem, and how you emphasized on the traffic leading as a sort of clogged bridge.
ReplyDelete