A Brighter Styx

From the relative safety of my coma,
I watched as the old hands settled in;
reacquainting with friends who came to ease their passage:
to welcome them from years of pain
and talk of old times.

From the relative safety of my coma,
I smiled as young paused … or made a din
splashing through the embracing surf, toes burrowing
through sand they would not feel again:
tasting last cold climes.

Then the dock-master turned to me in my coma:
me, surrounded by my kith and kin
and pipes and loud machines. I eased towards prime wassage
offered by a kinder Charon,
cleansing life’s told crimes,
and…