Iron Slab

They brought out the long metal stretcher
for the second time tonight
It leaves the hall empty, cold, and stoic
When it returns it is draped in white linen
No ceremony follows this procession
only the silent footsteps of a nurse, and messenger
Somewhere a wife or a child grieves
But here on the shiny tile floor
A sheet makes a man inhuman, flat, square.
Did he accomplish an iota of what he wished to?
Did he live a happy existence?
Did his face know the love of another?
All that remains now is a sheet, to cover his face
and a stretcher to carry the weight
of a life ended too early