-fate of god-

cousin Albert on my mother’s side 

was kneecapped by the fate of god.

it then conned transparent tubes

of oxygen into Albert's nostrils, stripped
away the tough-guy double-ring corona

replacing it with a long strand of drool

to swing from his narrowing mouth,
sucked the once fierce muscle
dry as sawdust, reddened

the lids of his eyeballs, yellowed

the widening whites and then
for good measure with a sick
sense of application, humped his backbone.

god slapped cousin Albert around with a cold
determination for reasons unknown but to god.

"Ed’s Medical Supply" on Weybosset Street

strapped cousin Albert into a wheelchair for a test run,

Ed telling his sons: "boys, it's the best model in the house".
cousin Albert went along for the ride.

Celia, Al's wife of near 60 years,–– 
her beauty and youthful vivaciousness sapped,

soon to suffer a god’s kneecapping caper of her own,

once sent me soaring from the frantic interiors to the outer planets, and

these recollections came tumbling to mind between table-settings

of coffee and finger sandwiches (ham salad and chicken salad)
as they wheeled cousin Albert into the restaurant gathering
after the funeral services for Uncle Armand on my father’s side.