chasing lawnmowers.

last thing
you ever had on
your mind
was a goddamn
lawnmower.
earlier that afternoon
you'd been talking
about selling
your john deere
to a guy down
in jersey;
maybe that's where
you planned on
going next.
half out of bed,
you were probably
just getting up
meaning
to make the drive
and dicker over
the price, get
a good bargain.
it had to be.
your expression--
unfathomable.
no clue how
the deal
had gone down.
we lifted you back
into bed.
pulled the covers
up to your chin.
house officer
came up to the floor,
listened to
the nothing
no longer
beating
or rattling around
in your chest.
closed your eyes.
called the family.
they came and
sat in a semi circle
around your bed
in cold hard
plastic chairs.
your son said
softly, "Oh, geez,
Pop." and kissed
your grey forehead.
he was crying.
later on, after they'd
gone, we washed
you in cold water.
a nursing student
came to look at you.
said she'd never
seen a dead man
before. i had
three hours left
of a fourteen
hour shift.
too tired to
argue, i shielded
you the best i
could.
took off your
johnnycoat.
wondered
what the hell
to do with
your wedding
ring.
decided
in the end:
leave it on.
put a tag
on your toe.
turned you.
fumbled,
said lamely,
"I'm sorry."
zipped you
into a white
body bag
that smelled
sharply
of plastic.
someone
wheeled
you away.
never did see
you go.
wondered
though
as I
drifted home
through the cold
saturday night
street
whether you'd
finally gotten
your money's
worth.