It's been several weeks since I limped
through the front door, joyous at the thought
of being at home.
Beside beloved Alison, who'd sat at my bed-
side during the worst of my recuperation,
I was met by Ella, our dachshund, wagging her
tail so vigorously her rump threatened to fall off.
Rommy, the Russian blue, silently mouthing a
meow, and Sadie, the tortoise-shell delight made
up a welcoming trio.
Yes, I was alive and home, eleven kilograms lighter,
hardly ate the hospital food, for want of another word.
Recalling the surgeons words, '15% you'll have a stroke,
5% you'll die during the operation.' And if I don't have it'
I asked. 'You'll die', the surgeon said. 'I'm in your hands, '
I replied - cognizant of the ramifications.
And you want to know something? It's good to be home!
jerry hughes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weeks-later/
