A young nurse’s aide, I bathed them out of pans
of hot water, as hot as was allowed and more,
rubbed their fallen muscles with mint lotion,
slid my hands over melanomas black as char
They groaned in painful pleasure, maybe
the last pleasure they would ever have
The wings of their shoulders pointed skyward,
chests hanging flaccid like the breasts of women
towards the end of their days
I kneaded their necks and muscles on each side
of the spinal column where they had carried so much,
carefully helped them turn onto their backs, rested
their shrinking skulls into the white valleys of fresh pillows
They slowly rolled their heads to one side,
eyes closed, and smiled small
I liked to make believe they were daydreaming
a certain woman in a rose garden
for that one moment of their lives when
they were still in love with the whole world