The heart, merely a bilge pump
ceases to work, and I descend
into the depths, taking all I own with me –
toast, hash browns, eggs over easy, included.
I would take the dog,
but she is unable to respond
to my non-existent whistle.
I imagine the wife dialing 911,
flashing lights, sirens, boots on steps,
doors opening and closing,
and consider what follows —
the absence of breath, pulse, chit chat,
the presence of gloved hands, defibrillator, pads, mask.
A monotone voice provides directives:

Kale is good for the heart

“Stand back from patient.” “Apply shock.” “Stand back from patient.”
The pump is activated. Ebb and flow resume.
I ascend, giving up my right to remain silent.

Next: 249. 9/9/19: Windows of Opportunity