The I.V. Waltz
(For my father Billy Glazner. After Theodore Roethke)
The morphine on your breath
Could make a grown man dizzy.
His hands on my shoulders,
he helps to lift himself up.
I.V. stand, maypole ribbons
of tube and power cord.
We step, step, stop,
step, step, steady,
our way to the toilet,
rolling the stand after us.
He can sit up on his own,
I give him a moment.
Snap on surgical gloves,
gently clean him.
Reverse our papa waltz,
lay him down to rest.
Trying to look busy,
listening for his death.
