Sitting in my office

Sitting in my office,
I poke at my side
Wondering how soft it's gotten
From two weeks at home
When everyone brought food over
And told me to eat.

I poke at my head
Wondering how soft that's gotten too
From a month of people telling me
How sorry they are
And to let them know
If there's anything they can do.

I'm sorry too.
That's my standard reply.

I poke at my side
Remembering how I used to wince
When returning from the yard
He'd have a cut on his thumb,
Make his way to the bathroom
And apply the red mercuric tincture.
How big a man could bleed,
It was a God-fearing wonder.

I poke at my head
Wondering how concussive a blow
Could snuff the light of so kind a man.

I die a hundred times a day
My father's death.