Bob Lucky: A TWINGE OF PAIN WITH A HINT OF MELODRAMA

doctors and patients,
we’re all dying—
this afternoon
I’ve lain in bed thinking
of a world without us

the nurse shaves me
in places
not shorn before—
the expression on her face
neither awe nor derision

outside surgery
my wife’s face receding
upside-down—
having washed his hands
the surgeon won’t shake mine

I hear the anesthesiologist tell the surgeon that I should try to get from the gurney to the bed on my own. I must have done so, for there is a sense of relief in the room. My wife kisses me on the forehead, someone squeezes my right foot, and the surgeon puts a sand bag on my groin and tells me to keep it there for twenty-four hours. Outside my window the well-lit skyscrapers of Shanghai jab their lightning rods into a hazy sky.

the night is erased,
scratched out—
sleep
at thirty-minute intervals
someone asks me to pee

by Bob Lucky
Hangzhou, China