Michael Redhill


In the corridors, death was stacked on trolleys,
diapered women in the dim rooms at the end of the hall
cried mama mama. Who
needs sunlight when the last things
perform in the dark? We rode the elevator
silently down to others. The flourescents shuddered,
tubes of electrified gas, and there was a glow
through the door at the end of the hallway.
We read the signs on the way out:
Oxygen Emergency Sharps Only Unlocked by Alarm.

April 5 2006, Jan 26 2009