Short History

Inward all rot and unattended pain,
The dinosaur stumbled to bed in ferns
Mo gardener had named. Aeons of rain
Blur my window. My eye turns

Away, to the stuffed chair; back to my bed;
The table by my bed. A cut-glass vase
Stands there jammed with ferns and spikes of red
Gladioli. The ferns are there for grace

I guess: Pteridophyta. I cough.
I smoke too much. I shouldn’t when I’m sick;
But where’s my lunch? That nurse is always off
Somewhere. Will I get lung cancer? Thick

As tears the rain falls, and I have tried
To read my book, but what’s between the lines?
Some lists that Adam left me when he died.
Out in the rock garden, Eve stands and whines.