a thousand what-ifs swarmed before my eyes,
and stung me as if I had rocked beehives,
the woulda-coulda-shouldas, if-only-I's,
all buzzed their screams, that he'd be still alive,

yet I had done all that I knew to do,
the breaths of life I gave him, much too late,
the EMT's three-quarter hour, their crew,
could not revive my father from his fate,

his heart had fibrillated, lifeless eyes,
were blind to all, his ears heard not our screams,
upon my breath his breathing finalized,
he fell to sleep the sleep where are no dreams,

now on that couch where father there reposed,
not we nor our dear cat to rest there goes

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos