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Ward Ten Descents | April 25, 2016

On waking, I heard no sound,

but noted, at five a.m.,

through a brightening window,

the long, slow, shallow descent –

a white tube of night fliers;

a package of people

pleased to return

to Birmingham International

as the rising sun

shattered the horizon.

 

On my left, in bed five,

I heard Colin’s struggled cough

in his long, slow, shallow descent

in a bed with rails

and with tubes, night-flowing –

a packaged patient

pleased to return

to Birmingham Heartlands

as the rising sun

split the cloud asunder.

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