A surgeon holds the clipboard up;
everyone nods with their alibis.
Old men push their IVs along,
looking in when passing by.

Jeans, a backpack, my Zippo and change;
there should also be a Red Sox cap.
A nurse brushes hair from her eyes
folding a shirt, closing a bag.

Someone draws the curtain back;
a crow is pecking at the sill.
The bleached white sheets off my bed
hang outside with daffodils.


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Larry Jordan’s work has appeared frequently on PoetryCircle as well as in Comstock Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Red Savina Review, Straight Forward, Miller’s Pond, Antiphon, and others. He also had a poem nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Larry passed away in September 2016. He lived and wrote in South Carolina.

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