When you were in the hospital
I camped out a refugee
in the middle of the living room.
On the bare wood floor
a phone, an ashtry, a pack of cigarettes
and the list that ruled each day:
What "to do" and who "to call"
while empty plates piled up on the periphery.

To have settled on the couch
with the same accessories,
with the same intent,
would have been to admit
the permanence of the circumstances.