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.”