A silver pipe strikes me on the left-hand window,
breaking the dullness of these grey hospital walls.

Granddad, you’re due for your umpteenth colonoscopy,
and here I am thinking about how your IV’d wrists
strip away light like a prism.

They bandage the hurt leaking from your eyes
and let rainbows clog up your insides.

(Is that why you can't go, you old geezer?)
(Smile a bit more, will you?)