Palm trees and a Tropical breeze.
The crisp tropical breeze
Shifts the green, green leaves of the palm trees.
The glass cracks and shatters
The car rolls and creaks.
The coconut water sticks to my lips,
The sweet, cool liquid wets my thirsty mouth.
The blood seeps into my mouth, my nose, my eyes.
Her eyes are glossy, glazed.
The ocean laps at the shore, the sand a soft hiss.
The sun, a golden orb, the sky, a sapphire gem.
The wood is varnished and shiny. The drapes are a glossy black.
The flowers, a plain white. Where are the bright colours she adored?
The turquoise cloths, the red, red beads.
The rainbow birds sing their tranquil song.
She would have loved this.
The locals chatter and wander as the nurse approaches my chair.
'Are you ready to go, Mister Zachery?' she asks.
My eyes lift to the horizon, now painted in summer hues,
Of golden yellows, bright pinks and pastel oranges.
Oh, how she'd love this.
'Yes. Let's go.'
My wheelchair moves back and rolls down the busy lane,
Back to the hospital, in this tropical isle.
Oh Jane. You would have loved this.