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
“***** 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