Wayne F. Burke


the nurses at the station in the cardio-rehab unit
were telling ghost stories from their childhoods
and I could think of nothing to add
could not remember being scared of ghosts
probably because there were much scarier things
than ghosts:
like the possibility of being beaten to death by a psychopath
like catching a back-handed slap from my Uncle as I ran across
the living room
like growing up to be as dumb and look as ugly
as some of the adults around me.

Tuesday Night

in Dullsville, USA
some action down by the
Mini-Mart but
hard to tell what kind--
a punk in a pickup truck
roars through--
street light changes red
to green and back:
birds dive bomb from trees
and shadows spread across the
as the earth turns
another degree
and the sun's rays
catch the topmost branches
of the elm tree beside the
Ace Motel
on the corner of the
where cars move through,
going somewhere--
unlike me.


I had triple bypass surgery and
died on the table
and was revived:
did not return with an NDE to
report, or even knowing of
my demise--
found that out by reading the
doctor's report on his desk
while his back turned to me.
One out of every thousand
they said, before wheeling me
to the operating room door
where the doc stood with
his team, all in hairnets and
blue scrubs--
"any questions?" he asked.
"Let's do it," I said.
They ran the stretcher 
into the stadium, 
under the lights.

One thought on “Wayne F. Burke

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s