Today I Saw a Man Who Should Not Die

Today I saw a man who should not die,
he wore the cuffs and shackles of white gown care,  
 
thin fingers
 
fondling the button that triggers the pump  
that feeds him smiles.
 
He bared his chest to show us the pipes  
of great science running through him,  
the pipes that feed him smiles.
 
Today I saw a man who sees pain  
walking about the room, he has studied  
and mastered it: when to press the button
 
to stop
 
the demon from jumping onto his bed
and still remain awake -- to dream.
 
But at night the pain is so that he is roused,  
he said,
he does not hear the footsteps;  
he knows though that, soon enough,  
 
pain
 
will get in bed and tuck himself beside him.
 
A religious bothered our conversation  
of few words and many tears,  
 
'I have others to pray for, I must hurry',  
so her words  
 
clang  
 
to the hospital floor,
 
Today I saw a man polite to a nun  
perfunctory in her ministrations.
 
Today I saw a man with unbuilt  
hospitals left inside him,
I held the hand of the man inside,  
the man who sees past hospital walls,  
the one who kites through dreams  
loaned from pain, the man  
with a better country left inside him.