It Was Midsummer
It was a funny thing
Because they were together
But they were divorced
And he was dying of a terminal disease,
Then she went away on holiday
And left him there
And he turned to me.
I gave him my phone number
Because I was always out
And he couldn't crawl along the corridor
To my place
He was thin,
I think he had a colostomy bag.
He was getting old
But not quite there yet.
And he was so critical and exacting
About the shopping I brought him.
In spite of it all,
He was so . . . . . . . . masculine.
Strange he made me feel so special
In a telling-me-off kind of way.
He talked mostly about food.
He was starving
Because that thing inside him
Was getting all his food.
He talked about meals and restaurants
With all the desire of a lover.
One day after she returned from holiday
I stood by his opened window.
It was midsummer
But the sun was deceptive
With that summer wind that blows in suddenly
And he shivered and asked me to close it please.
The sirens from the police cars were screaming by,
This is no place to die, he said.
Three days later he died.
Funny, he had given me a freebie CD of old long ago hits
Which he had got from the newspaper.
He didn't have a CD player.
Get one soon, the nurse had said ominously,
Get one soon . . . . .
After he died I took out the CD,
One track was :
''Open up your heart
From the very start
Feel yourself a part
Of everylasting love . . . ..''
I dropped to the floor,
Crumpled in tears,
I loved him.
I loved him .