I always feared when I was young
that my blue veins would bulge out of my hands
like yours
they are now deft with our flesh
you prop us up,
tchotchkes on a shelf
talk of your impending spring funeral,
peonies and tulips
take off
“organ donor” on your health card
because they’ve already been given to us
at seven in North York you
danced to Elton John by the front window,
ducking at the sight of headlights
I can avoid you like
rush hour traffic if it would save you
the trouble