Friday, January 1, 2016


A tube trails through my skin
Directly to my heart;
And yet I rarely think about this—
One gets used to anything.

I’ve learned the word “infuse”
And once each day I do it,
Step by careful step, alone,
Accepting medicine that heals.

It feels like nothing special;
A tiny chill from saline flush,
Heparin to stop the clots,
And then the stuff flows in.

I don’t feel tough;
I don’t feel much except
How old I am, how wise
I’ve grown. How frail.

©2015 John I. Blair

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