Thrice Caws the Crow

Forgive me, but I thought those grapes
were brought for me; my mistake, obviously.

OK...so I am too sick to eat them,
but that is hardly the point, now wouldn’t
you agree?

And speaking of fruit, I am no vegetable either,
nor am I unconscious; merely sleeping. Just
resting my eyes.

I might have lost the ability to speak, but
I have, in no way, lost my mind.

I’m thirsty, and yet I am denied a drink.
Yes...you do leave a jug and glass beside my bed,
but what use is that when I’m too weak to lift it?

I’m starving, and yet you remove my life-support –
my feeding tube, even against my written wishes...

I, who am taking too long to die. ‘Bed-blocking’
they call it. Don’t think, for one minute,
I am not aware of that. And yet

little point putting good money after bad.
Realistically speaking, I’m for the knackers yard,
shortly, so why waste it keeping me alive?

And so they tell her, “We are so very sorry,
but old age is old age, and not one of us
lives forever.”

“For fuck’s sake!” I yell, inside. “Please
don’t mind if I try.” But no one hears me...
only my daughter.

I am the prayers she says in bed each night;
the smile, and the wave when she leaves my side...
the tears – fill her eyes when she walks away...

I am the black-backed crow waits by the window
for life to be extinguished here. “For the best,
for the best,” it caws.
I am that lie.