The guy across the road from Daniel’s killed himself last week. He was young, maybe in his thirties. Young children Young wife And he was angry.
He was hot, dirty and bloody and barrelling back to his camp, Leaving a battalion of fresh young boys behind him, they weren’t moving anymore. He had murder in his eyes and fire in his breath as he searched for a man soon to have appreciation for the consequences of his decisions, In a tropical paradise, de-evolved.
The elliptical printed hospital gown that is loosely draped around my fathers body that is emaciated from the organs who have decided to fail him, long after he failed them.
A meditation on the simplest and most painful journey of my fathers looming mortality