He’s sitting on a deck chair
stiffly staring out over the lake–
squeezing his mouth together–
not saying anything.
On the way here
I listened to a book about dying.
I don’t know what is expected because
we don’t talk about death.
Across the lake
the sunset light pulls down.
Time narrows and dims.
“I just want the pill, Dave.
The one that takes away
all the pain.”