iii.

That night
all the fillings 
in your teeth
came unstuck
and I fished them out
by lamplight
into a plastic kidney shaped bowl.

They brought me in a makeshift cot
and I lay there, 
trying to curl into sleep
under a pale yellow blanket.
Your hand reached down 
and played 
a silent lullaby
on my fingers,
reaching up.

We drifted.

It’s your fault,
you said,
sitting up suddenly,
and wildly staring.
Pointing at me.
This is all your fault.
You and your beautiful eyes.

I do have
beautiful eyes.

I ran to the nurses’ station,
crying,
and they came to see you.

Ah, they murmured, yes.
I see where we are.
And they notched up
your machine.
A new number punched in.