The Last Time I Saw Him Not Smiling

The glasses of beer were raised more often
clinked with less care as the night progressed
the last time I saw him laugh himself red

When I peered into his room months later,
he was grumbling and fanning his loins
hospital sheets tossed in a wide tumble  
 
the painter's gentle hand gripped my arm  
with the burliness of pain, his nails  
dug into my flesh to own my eyes
 
The last time I saw him not smiling
he glowered for my full attention  
as one could of a close friend really
 
his eyes sought to tell me how it is to die  
as they swung large and lurchingly
a competition between torture and friend  
 
pain winning the tug of war more often
I should see him one more time I thought
one last time anaesthetized and smiling
 
And then he craned his neck and pulled me close  
so he could whisper but he screamed
"I did not know that it is so hard to die".