My friend's father just died this morning. He had been in a hospital for the last two years, and I wanted to write a poem. The doctors gave him two days to live, but he held on until he watched his son's basketball game on friday. My friend is fourteen.

Two days, they said
That's all the time
You have left.
Your organs will
Begin to fail soon
Would you like us
To contact your family?
Two days?
But today is saturday
I will not get a chance
To watch my son's game?
I refuse, I refuse to die
In so little time
If Death wants me
He will have to fight
For every inch of my soul!
A week, that's all I ask
Let me see my son's game.
With unfaulting concentration
I set my sights on next friday.
The weekend goes by
And the pain is like nails
But I refuse to take refuge
In the dark abyss.
He cannot hold on much longer
They tell my family
Thinking I cannot hear.
It's tuesday
And the pain has me trembling
But I think of an orange ball
Bouncing on a hardwood floor.
My family mourns around me
Even though I have not died
For all intents and purposes
I am a corpse.
Thursday my organs are burning
But I refuse the morphine
Just as I refuse to die
Not yet, not now!
Today's the day
They put me in a wheelchair
And escort me to the school
It is the happiest day of my life.
They play a good game,
And my son loses, 45-23
But I do not care.
It is sunday, the day I die
And as I go
I do not think about the pain;
I think about my son
And the game he has played.