This is another of my close shave poems (but when I think about it the shave was too close – more like a fatal shave). This poem is about a friend of mine who died a long time ago now – strange how people always think they will get a second chance at life.

___________________________________________

Timing

His inebriated reverie
featured a change in fortune,
a magical
pivot
materialising, in the nick of time,
as he teetered on the edge.

He had visions of narcan for an overdosed lifestyle,
something to snap himself back from the effects
of a depressed, nervous system.

An apparition,
an angelic stranger, providing resuscitation.
Chest compressions sparking a cracked heart,
warm breath of someone else’s life
galvanizing his lungs for another go,

but the light in his eyes was skeletal,
and his timing was out.

His time had run out.

__________________________________________________

9 thoughts on “Timing

  1. It was not to be a revival meeting, as it appears.
    A close shave too many reminds me of an air force pilot who lived next door to us, who flew all sorts of dangerous missions and then converted from jets to helicopters when he flew lots more of them. Then he was killed by his car hitting a rhino near a remote airforce base.

  2. Sometimes I wonder if it is simply too much accumulated sadness that gradually overwhelms our life force.
    “But the light in his eyes was skeletal…. His time had run out”.
    Great piece of writing Gabrielle

    1. yes, I am sure that the knocks and bruises all add up over time and some people are more sensitive than others, so the knocks and bruises are all the more powerful – which is very sad because it is often the sensitive people who are closer to the truth, I feel – it is the thick skinned, insensitive sods who just don’t get it, and who survive to annoy the rest of us. Thanks Stafford.

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