threes and sevens and nines

or the parable of threes

outside at break she watches
cal come up the walk. he's stooped
and shuffling,   baseball cap loose
on his head, red company polo
shirt tenting his wasted
body. she stubs her cigarette and emerges
beside him from the smoking area, he stops
a bit surprised to find this pleasant
obstacle to his determined progress. it's a goodbye
party for the boss, who has been given
the customary six weeks. cal himself is 85
battling
cancer, kidney & bladder, for 2
years now. hey she says i'm glad to see
you ain't given up show biz
gives him a hug, surprised at the frailty
of his shoulders, the spine's
stoop. well i'm in for chemo tomorrow
i think this is gonna be the last
go round for me, she wishes
she'd say
something like don't give up or
keep fighting but she can't
see the reason herself. she loves him
agape, he's a real mensch
didn't deserve to be poked and prodded
in and out of the hospital like cattle
feeding a vampire colony.
 she cannot stand to go
inside hospitals, small talk is excruciating
and large talk impossible. she doesn't
visit him, though he
would have
visited
her, she's sure.
who's taking care of you
who's home with you now?
once she and her son painted &
refacia ed his house
he'd go in and out
 the door, getting drinks, talking to the boy
about his days in ww2, navy man, regaling
with tales of the open sea at war
with the lift and hammering, the brushstrokes
not performed
by his own hands but he
was cool about it, laughed at the failing
body, the crappiness of aging. she asked him why
he never married. i was close once
but it broke off a couple weeks
before the wedding. i decided then and there it just
wasn't worth it. she nods.

life's full of other things. do them instead.