Fifteen minutes earlier
you were smiling,
asking for cigarettes.
You must have smoked
the one I gave you,
maybe sat a while
in the TV Room.
Someone found you
on a cot,
thrashing, breath slow.
Ambulance called once and again
when you were nearly gone,
gray-brown skin
starting to cool.
The EMTs arrived, mandated
to snatch you back.
Three big men
with heavy cases, then two more
pushing up the stairs.
Now your breathing stopped,
the gown torn off.
They jump start you, yes,
a faint pulse, enough
to carry you
to the Emergency Room.
You'll never know what lengths
they went to
to get you to this state
of never knowing
until you die again.
Published in Blue Collar