Stream of consciousness poem, part VII

October 13, 2011 -- Later

We paid to
Take a nap
In a room
Which we did not
Intend to keep
And then we
Faced the hospital
Again

He was awake
He was alert
He could not speak
A tube was down his throat
But he could communicate
And for the first time
In twenty-four hours
We began to feel
Some hope

Then a doctor
Swept in
A bird of prey
Dressed in white
He clutched in his hand
Film images
That he was eager
Show us

He drew us out
Away from the room
Where hope was waking
To show us the film
Of blackened
And burnt insides
From which there was
No recovery
And almost certainly
Was death

The morbid doctor left us
And left us cold
In the room
Our brother's raised eyebrow
Asked the question
That we could not answer
That we would not answer
How do you tell
Someone there is no hope?
You don't.