On major Sabines death, fifth part.

"From nine p.m. and forward
watching tv and chating
I´m wating for my father´s death.
From three months ago, waiting.
At work and when drunk
over the lonely bed and at children´s room,
inside his shed and so full pain,
his sleeplessness, his complaining and his protest,
inside his oxigen tank and his molars
inside the dawning day, looking for hope.
Looking at his bony corpse
that now is my father,
and inserting needles on the meager veins,
trying to get life into him, to give him breath
                      in the mouth of air...

(I´m embarrassed of myself to the hairs
for trying to write this things.
¡damned the one that believes this is a poem!)

I want to say I´m no nurse,
pimp of death,
patheon speaker, pander,
scullion of God, priest of sorrow.
I want to say I can spare some air."
--Jaime Sabines