The Doctor, Part 10

Writing my name

on the pages

of a hurried will,

it is hard

not to hear

the panting

of my mortality:

 

if

my life is ending

then to pore and pore

over 

pictures of living,

friends,

my small family,

 

the way 

the plastic coating 

shines on the snapshots

under the glow 

from the patina green banker’s lamp 

on the desk my father owned,

 

everyone captured on film

at truly 

their very happiest,

the lights in the rooms

where the pictures

were taken

licking the world

with

a flash of gossamer,

I finally look

like a movie star

to me.

 

You can read the complete The Doctor series of poems here