Vaccine

You died,

and for the very first time

in my entire crumby life, 

Death was nose to nose with me,

and I could smell his breath
like soiled bedpans and cleaning fluid

The smell is still somewhere,

stuck in my sinuses

or my nostril hairs,
or whatever

Your passing made me

grow up a little;

I do not cry over silly things

Because every time

I get the urge to cry

about anything other than you,

I remember the way

your jaw hung limp

against your sanitized hospice pillow

And nothing is nearly as bad

as listening to the death wishes

tiptoe out

between your cracked delirious lips,

hoping that someone would hear,

your "kill me, d****t"

Nothing is nearly as bad

as hearing your scraggly voice

call out in the middle of the night

for a spoonful of watery ice cubes

that you could barely even swallow

Nothing is nearly as bad

as watching a zitty 18-year-old CNA,

turn your body over

and wipe your bottom clean,

before the funeral home got there,

to zip you up in a bag

Nothing is nearly as bad,
so I don't cry

about that other stuff anymore

I had a vaccine for death

I'm immune