TRAUMA: SEE MEDICAL FOOTNOTE
By Cary B. Ziter
medical experts have detected an odd-
shaped tissue-mass orbiting in my chest.
but after intense analysis
they’ve concluded it’s not my heart –
you ripped out that trembling
wet-rag with your calloused, boldly
militant, dangerously unpredictable hands –
then, oblivious to my agony
and pain, swept it into the compost pile.
later I saw you in our favorite Irish pub
mauling another man.
and only wish twice-over I had the steel
guts to even-handedly warn him: dude,
soon you’ll be like a ghost, thin and drained,
hanging around the cemetery, caught off
guard when her one-mile-high volcano plume
buries you in ash, under
lava and huge rocks. and yet –
each time you spot her from a distance
the words Vaya con Dios (go with God)
will float into your weeping mind,
and you will strip from memory
all menace, only recalling with exultation
the moments of joy,
the million mugs of beer shared
with the living.
CARY B. ZITER is the author of several published books for young readers. Prior to his retirement he worked for the New York State Tax Department, Exxon and IBM, including long-term assignments in Paris and Hong Kong. He earned a degree in journalism from Morrisville Agricultural and Technical College and his master’s in literature from Bennington College. His poetry has appeared in The Pointed Circle, Blueline, the Front Range Review, California Quarterly, The New Croton Review and other literary journals. He and his wife, Jozi, live in New York’s Hudson Valley region.
