Alice.

Abstract

The final plea: “take good care of me.” And the symphony of tears I wipe from your eyes after the ventilator is breathing for you. Unperturbed, you now lie in this paralytic slumber— while your children rush in traffic call the relatives and whisper prayers to whatever god will listen. If you could see yourself now hear the continual beep of our mad tea party (our machinery $&^#$&!) would you have chosen differently? But for you now, there is no sight there is no sound there is no time— down in the rabbit hole. And in this sleep of death, What dreams of yours do come? I inspect my gold watch, as the hand ticks and continues to move forward… Now I am late. I’m late,I’m late,I’m late. The patchwork on your abdomen tells me a finale is at hand. I lower the drape. I gently peel the dressing off your eyes, and slowly remove the probe in your esophagus. I await Alice.