When they come for you
they wear black pants and shiny black jackets
to keep them warm
and slanted expressions
and soft words and calm gestures
in a faded blue Ford Caravan
with a light rolling stretcher.
They tell your wife that it is customary
for family members to go into the other room
because it's sometimes hard to watch.
Then they move the kitchen table,
the chairs, the cat bowl,
the newspaper on the floor,
move you and zip you up,
push and pull you on your new wheels,
bump you through,
against the counter, the screen door,
down the concrete steps,
then, lining you up
straight with the back of the van,
they put their backs into it
and push hard,
fitting you in like freight,
head first,
the same way you entered
this world.
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