Lost and Found

Poem on finding my best friend dead

Arm curled up in rigor mortis
like a baby's
I thought this
must be red plastic soup
Honest to God
red plastic soup
upon your face
because no no no
it can't be blood
when there was so much of it.

Cold as marble
though soft
-both you and not you-
You enough that when
I wrenched you from
your bed and
bumped your head
upon the bedside table
I felt guilt and a
secret sadistic satisfaction
because how could you be doing this to me?
You lummox! Don't you know how big the anti-psychotics made you?
I'm like a mother who
powered by adrenaline
lifts a car to free
their child trapped underneath.

And now I have you on the floor.
"He's fucking dying!" I shout
at the operator, who calmly
chastises me to calm down
and speak more politely
but I know you're dead.
That won't dissuade me
from following instructions.
Pump: one two three
Pump: one two three
Staying alive
Staying alive
Heels of hands
Fingers interlocked
Here's the church
Here's the steeple
With every pump
Fresh blood spurts
from your nose
A desecration
I'm sobbing
as the operator tells me off.

I'm sorry
Sorry, sorry, sorry
Let the crew inside
And sit outside like a
deflated balloon
a fucking garden gnome
sob sob sob
//Some Use You Were//
sob sob sob
//Failed To Save Your Best Friend//
sob sob sob

The ambulance driver tells me:
"It was too late,
He must have died in the night."
So, that's alright -
My alibi is solid.
I was a great friend till the end.
Lovely stuff.

But I tidied up your living room
Before I even checked the bed.
With you lying dead
I cleaned your scraps into the bin
To assuage my OCD.

I wanted you respectable because
I knew you could sleep too late.
You slept like the dead; those meds
They kept you under.

I frittered a full five minutes
Scared of what I would find
After an afternoon's
missed phone calls.

And when I found you
I should have laid down
next to you
put my arms around you
licked the blood
from off your face
and waited for us
to be found
together.