He's already in the car, an hour's drive
he can't allow himself to think, just drive
in the helicopter's shadow peeling
silently over the hills, silently, like nothing
is happening inside, nothing going on,
can't think of anything newborn
zooming through the sky, an ounce of brain
racked by seizures, blue-skinned, underweight
and Swiss cheese for a heart.
What's in the rearview, eh? Anything coming?
Cars? Trucks? Glare and a crab-red face deformed
with thoughts of beats and breathing tubes,
and ahead, old magazines on tables, waiting rooms
where doctors lead men and women into offices to sob
oh my god oh god oh jesus no...
And some of the most beautiful scenery in this country
can be found along our many well-maintained highways.
Shield rock, tamarack swamp and pine groves
line the winding thoroughfares between our cities. He is still
driving, he can see the city coming up. The helicopter
must have arrived already, in Toronto, where they fiddle
inside her rib cage with the sanitary version of a bicycle tire
repair kit....and he's on his way to the hospital, he'll get there,
he's coming, he's keeping his eye on the road.