In The Hospital

He seemed to want to kiss me on the mouth

but couldn’t. I didn’t; kissed his cheek instead.

I said: You’re hot as a pistol.

He said: Am I?

I said: I’ll see you in the morning.

Then he was left facing a long night:

with the facts of cancer and cancer drugs,

the hospital room as stark as torture,

the IV dripping away like a sentence,

checks on his vitals every thirty minutes. 

It would be in no way rest.

My own little son,

now a fully grown man,

I wished I had given him a better kiss!