At The Deathbed

[billy]

Of course, I was the last to arrive at his bedside;
I feared him the most.
It made no difference that he was dying.
Dying would only make him more unpredictable.
“Christ, you are ugly” he might say.
or “I never liked you, anyway.”
That’s what I was thinking when I leaned over
to greet him.

“Dad, it’s me.” I whispered dutifully,
hoping he wouldn’t wake;
but he did, his face brightening,
thinking his oldest son
was there to save him,
to take him home. for me this verse needs a good image

He reached for my hand,
gripped it fiercely,
and threw one leg over the side of the bed.
I pretended to help him;
but I wanted him to stay there
and die without a fuss,
the way it’s done on TV.

His body slumped into the white sheets,
his eyes large with questions
and the realization
there was to be no escape.

He’d talked about his dying to me on the phone.
“It’s okay” he said, “I’m ready”
I was hoping he meant it;
but I could see he was terrified;
the thin thread of life slipping
from his hands.

As usual, I made this all about me,
and stood over him in shame;
I wanted to say something helpful;
but my tongue,
my tongue,
was ash.

there isn't much can be faulted (imo) it feels a little prose and lacks poetic device bar the good enjambment. the narrative style of the poem counters the prose a lot so it still reads as a good poem. personally i would love to see two or three really strong images, or maybe the use of a couple of metaphor or similes within the piece. the really good thing about it is it's originality, it has lots. it also flows really well.

i found it intriguing that throughout the poem the 1st person felt enough emotion to want the father dead and at the end, wanted to say something helpful. in some ways it mirrors many lives, in that we often leave things till it's too late.
thanks for your first poem, i hope we get to read many more
all jmo