Outside on the streets of New York City:
the Diallo demonstrations.

Inside the hospital room at the Cancer Center:
My father has shut his eyes on the world.

Next to the untouched breakfast lunch and dinner trays—
Unread newspapers pile up, with news

of the world my father is leaving behind.
He’s packed up his troubles…

…and he’s heading out, big hand waving:
“Goodbye! Good Luck!”

I hear him shout, and he’s off!
He’s the lucky one now. We’re still here.