Two Haitians at the Deathbed

[peter6]

Revised Version

Two Haitian aides,
black clouds of rumbling thunder,
blow into the quiet room,
scattering the papers on his nightstand.

They hurl lightning bolts of laughter,
as they swirl about his bed,
a tumult of sound and confusion,
waking him from the dreams
that come before death,
rolling his body this way and that,
indifferent to his fear;
they shroud him in billowing white sheets.

The storm breaks to soft rain,
and the wild clouds glide swiftly
to the next room,
where a woman has stopped breathing,
and they must make way
for another of the dying.


Original Version

Two Haitian aides,
black clouds of rumbling thunder,
sweep into the room,
blowing the papers on his nightstand
to the floor.
The television roars to life.

They hurl lightning bolts of laughter,
waking him from the dreams
that come before death;
handling him
with a disturbing indifference.

The oppressive afternoon humidity
is broken by fitful rain,
and the room returns to silence;
the wild clouds gliding swiftly
to the next room
where a woman has stopped breathing,
and they must make way
for another of the dying.