Death Rattle

Ponytailed hospice guy
says there’s no need to
beware the death rattle,

my father is in no pain,
those last rasping breaths
mere babble of useless fluid.

What he didn’t say was
the dying would sound
like Dad in our old garage

working on the John Deere,
banging it with a hammer,
his cacophonous cursing

now echoing from my mouth
as I kick the clattering can
down the desolate road.

Header photograph © Icy Blu Daniel.