I tried to explain to the emergency room technicians
that it was an apparition of a red cardinal
which had given me my heart attack.
But they were doubtful.
"Turn off those Klieg lights, please!"
They were looking at medical panels.
"And that red cardinal is a whore," I added,
rendering the whole scene
somewhat dour, dippping us in an Eakins
tonality, though by this time
I was sucking on another lollipop.
I was writing the red cardinal
an apology, a Christmas card
in my head. I was imagining
all of the sunflower seeds
I would include, as a surprise.
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