Acrobatics

A machine keeps him alive 

now that his kidneys can't

and he endures this 

without a mother 

(She would have nursed him 

like no other). 

He has only me, wife, and the machine, 

both second best but we keep him going

on this tightrope, we keep him swinging,

rebounding—we keep life on its tip toes.

On his bad days, I tell him:

Just look at the weeds shooting up from the patio 

pushing through the odds.

Look how the blind bats catch a meal 

in the pitch of night, 

how the mushroom explodes overnight 

in the junk yard.

Life abides. He likes to hear this.

So I repeat: Life goes on by the grace 

of some generous force.

It stages comebacks, abandons reason,

and drags on stubbornly, 

flying in the teeth of it all.