DEATH Poem: The Lavender Hour, by DonRay Nelson Casey McClanahan

BUzz of the fluorescents, hummin’ like bees
with a mortgage,
Socks shuffle down linoleum like jazz in slow
motion-
Midnight’s long fingers tap the window screen,
Time don’t walk here it leans.

Gertrude’s got a halo of curlers and gin,
She’s got lipstick older than orignal sin,
Tells the story ‘Bout Brooklyn again and again,
Says, “Kid, I danced with a ghost once… he
dipped me real mean.”
Time don’t walk here it leans.

The coffee’s burnt, but the stories are steeped,
In scars and medals and husbands who sleep
In places the nurses dont go after dark,
But Earl hums Stardust and flicks his spark-
The smoke curls up like forgotten dreams,
Time don’t walk here it leans.

There’s bingo on Tuesdays and pudding on
trays,
And love letters yellowed from wartime
delays,
There’s dentures that click in a Morse-cpde
praise
While the clock-ticks loud like it’s gnawin’ a
bone.
Time don’t walk here it leans.

One woman whispers to walls that don’t
answer.
A name like a prayer, a curse, or a cancer.
The TV’s a preacher with popcorn for teeth,
Selling salvation beneath a plastic wreath.
Death wears slippers and drinks caffine,
Time don’t walk here it leans.

The janitor’s mop writes poems in reverse,
Each swipe a stanza, each bucket a verse.
He says, “We’re all just ghosts with a checking acount,”
And the light flickers once, like it’s tryna
recount-
How silence hums in old machines…
Time don’t walk here it leans.

Midnight’s the loudest hour you’ll know,
With coughs in rythym and nurses in tow,
And the smell of cologne from a man long
gone,
Still lingers like lyrics to a forgotten song.
The hallways moans in minor keys…
Time don’t walk here it leans.

You want the bridge? It’s cracked but holdin’.
You want the truth? It’s bruised but golden.
You want the beat? It’s limpin’ but clean.
Time don’t walk here it leans.