I put the book of poetry down even though
The words on most occasions bring solace
Staring out a window facing a water tower
A remembrance park for cancer patients under
Its shadows, possibly adding cool on a hot
Summer day when no one wants to stroll there
Or anywhere, unlike the painting on the adjoining wall
Whose color palette confessing its age; at the height
Of mauves, and a lightened blue that is meant to imply
Water and sky soaked in sunshine with the sailboats belying
The lake’s gift of ease probably in Italy somewhere
Tourists sipping on some spritz of wine and Campari
A plate of antipasto in wait for the two lovers luxuriating
On their lovely patio they feel too lucky to have gotten
Passion’s affections intensified by the language, the scene
Their good fortune and wine under the garish glow of the sun
A memory created by the hand and idea of some random artist
Slightly incapable, like me, who kept attempting to capture
A feeling that was wished or hoped to have happened
And a hospital administrator thought would bring peace
When any number of physicians and nurses would be tortured
With the job of saying things like, considering your age,
On a scale of one to ten how do you rate your pain,
It could be worse, you still have options, or
Is there someone we can call, and the patient thinks
I would like to go to that lake to find that someone
Before you say another word that breaks my heart