PET Scan

One day—finally—every footstep hits the ground
with all my history, like walking on the moon
for the first time, or a rebel’s steps to the gallows,
soldier treading into battle, but what do I know?
The next day was for me and my wife, no one else
on Earth, lunch and a movie, middle of a work week,
kissed like sweethearts behind a haystack in 1885.
On Monday, they’ll tell me if I’m going to die soon.
Everyone will hear me coming, this walk now loud
enough to get the medical building to shudder, shake,
and make the cemetery come awake five miles away.
Each breath a painter’s stroke, heartbeat a prizefighter
in the 10th round, eyesight a mad collector, hoarding.