In Progress

            Lacking the certainty

            Of Milton, Wordsworth

            Or even Harold Bloom,

            I drove Susan’s Hyundai

            Toward her first appointment

            Of the day in the desert

            On Bob Hope Drive.

            Pushing her into a machine

            They gave her ear plugs

            And me as well

            Sitting by the wall.

            Then tolled a discordant

            Chime time and again

            While urging her stillness

            And the holding of breath.

            Death was ever on

            Our minds but not quite 

            Yet.  Pulling her out

            They let me help her stand

            And on my arm walk her

            Off on our next venture.