Barbara

Death sits in the corner, picking his nails,
pretending to ignore me.
The guy recently took a friend of mine from work,
a psychologist, a beautiful woman, a good mother.
This angers me but there’s nothing I can say
that will penetrate Death’s skin.
He won’t bring Barbara back no matter how much
I beg or plead.

One of the last times I saw her I gave her
a get well card with Tootsie Rolls taped inside.
Her cancer had resurfaced and Tootsie Rolls
were the only thing I knew to say.
But now Tootsie Rolls can’t reach her.
Neither can her family’s love.
Neither can I.

Death sits in the corner whistling a tune.
Barbara is in that song, I know it,
but I’m still mad at the guy.
I still want him to go away.