I know this might sound silly
but watching you die
reminds me of banana milkshake.
Blowing air into the straw
like we did in Mrs O'Flanagan's
classroom, as we watched
the rise and fall of paint bubbles.
At four years of age
I felt guilty for the first time
because last week's lunch
was curling in my locker.
inside my stomach
at the thought of my mother's
suffering cruel slow deaths.
Paul K. Henry
If you've any comments on this poem, Paul
K. Henry would be pleased to hear from you.