Dad was lying comatose, jaw dropped,
cheeks sunken, death’s head personified.
‘Nurse, why have you taken out his teeth?
Doesn’t he deserve his dignity in dying?’
My last memory of him – death’s a bitch.
The We Write Poems prompt this week is to write about a moment when we come upon someone we care for who isn’t aware of our presence. This image of my father’s death has stayed with me for forty-five years, and even now, I have to make a conscious effort to remember the real Dad. This prompt coincided with a Trifecta one-word prompt Bitch, using the definition “something that is extremely difficult, objectionable, or unpleasant.”