His human respiration ceased.
Agonal breaths remained.
A waterless fish lying on the tile floor.
A blooming tulip pulled out of its pot home.
His hair human-like
–silver strands
–gold strands
–long strands
combed and parted to the side.
Vermillion border of his lips dissipating.
Tubes and wires and beeps and hisses and clugs and clicks and drips and flashes.
Slow down heart, slow down.
His family gone somewhere to eat a sad meal.
Talking about the snow and the president and the traffic.
Brother from Dallas wasn’t there.
He wanted Dad to stay like this forever.
Alive.
Machines to make us machines.
Machines to make us think we are machines.
This is a force that cannot be stopped.
Fools.
We are all fools.
Fools of paperwork,
of algorithms,
of vials of epinephrine and atropine.
I watched.
The heart beats getting farther apart.
Window had the best view of downtown,
Snow on the streets.
Snow on the rooftops.
Skyscrapers.
Art deco hotels.
The respirator, the monitor, the television, the wires, the cables, the tubes, the pipes
obstructed the view.
It takes a long time to die.
Plugged.
Alone.
