Many Times Before

The call came on an ordinary Friday while

He lay in bed on his last day, his last hour.

His breath faltered, halted, then reluctantly restarted 

As he had predicted so 

Many

Times

Before.

Through the spotty phone connection I talked

Like he was a child

Like I was a child. 

He may have listened; I don’t know.

I could feel his struggle through the miles growing

Weaker.

I could imagine his mouth gawping like so many exhausted fish

At the bottom of his

Steel fishing boat. 

Certainly he must have been ready with so many

Dress rehearsals. 

He must have at least imagined the sound of

The knock.

Did the “Good Lord” knock

As he had predicted

When he play-acted the scene many times

Before?

When family gathered ‘round him

Clothed in flannel and tears.

Imaginary illnesses causing so much collateral

Damage.

Now, even the stench of him was too faint to detect

Through the wires, though I 

Smelled the memory:

Muskyputridsourrottingunwashedfestering flesh.

Clarity and clouds were fighting for power in his

Confused, addled mind.

Weakness and pain mingled

Like fishing nylon on a trot line - hard to know which 

Thin lines went to where - to what - then

Snap.