it took him a very long time
and even when he found
a heart surgeon who’d listen
his story sounded fantastic:
“Hold on a minute,” the first surgeon said,
holding up a finger before leaving the room.
He returned with a colleague, another surgeon.
“I want you to listen to this with me, please.”
“Let me get this straight,” the first surgeon said.
“You don’t need or want a heart transplant?”
The two surgeons faced him leaning forward.
“Right. My heart is fine. It’s just filled. With her.”
“You don’t care about anything else, right?”
The first surgeon asked, turning to the second.
“I can’t care about anything else. No room, none.”
So the three sat there for several minutes pondering.
“You need a second heart,” the first surgeon said.
He nodded with his hand over his heart, sincere.
With time and several tests, in the end, they proved
his heart in fact was filled with her, entirely filled.
what’s a person to do so filled with love
to care about anything else was theater
pretense and only gestures and fanfare
as if anything else at all could matter