The blog his son set up for him
Updates at 4:05 am.
Another Last Post
Full of R2D2 radiation machines
And goggles to protect his eyes
Swirl somewhere in electrical transfers.
If I don’t read it,
It doesn’t matter.
Who’s up at such hours?

I read the New York Times
Last updated at 2:10 am.
New York will implement
Commuter bag searches to
Protect us from terror.
At night on a glowing screen,
The looming abstract T word
Seems comically innocuous to policy.

T’s and Chemo machines transmitting
Twirled onto two open pages
They pose like Egyptians at rest.
Some live, some die
And I do not eat my late night snack
With enjoyment at your expense
But simply with enjoyment.

If I seem cold, how could it be otherwise?
The world set up so that a loved one
Can suffer miles away,
Or a stranger blow up on a train
While ice cream melts in my bowl.
And perhaps, while you miraculously
Fly home well, the one on the bed
Next to you will be lowered into the ground.

I return to your blog and post this poem,
Desiring that not in spite of, but because of, its honesty,
You will find it full of hope.
We won’t ask for healing,
As if we were the exceptional few
That deserve a different destiny,
But for strength—
Granted the moment whispered.