Life threatening but not serious,
that’s what the doctor told me.
When the nurse asked
on a scale of one to ten,
how is your pain?
Have a devil of a time
not saying eleven.
There’s this guy next to me
more tubes going in and out of him
like wires of a home entertainment unit.
Bastard always says some crap
like five. The bastard.
Just feel so bad for him.
Can’t say six now.
Me, now I gotta say four.
Got no wires.
***
So I’m alert when he starts telling me about
himself. Oh, my god. Now
I feel bad about almost saying
six. He could be six foot three,
hard to tell at this angle
maybe 117 pounds. He’s got like three different
organ failures. Ambulance had a flat tire.
Was in the hospital for eight weeks.
Gets home. There’s a car crash.
House burns down.
Sister falls and breaks stuff,
can’t take care of him anymore.
Can’t pay the bills. electric turned off.
So, he’s back.
Oh, nurse!, I holler.
I meant to say eleven.
***
When I got my second divorce,
we split pro se, which is Latin
for ‘no F-bomb lawyers.’
Got there early.
Some judicial lady comes in
and all the prospective divorcees
show up, just one from each couple
although I must admit I got a chuckle
when a man and his soon-to-be-but-not-yet
ex-wife came together.
Looked like they could kill
each other at any minute.
***
There’s a question
and I forget what it was
but the answer from one wife comes,
“He’s in prison.”
Pause.
“I don’t know what prison.”
***
Suddenly, you start thinking, damn,
maybe your life isn’t
so terribly awful after all.
It’s threatening sure
but
not always serious.