Waiting for Huntington
I never knew your secret,
until the day the symptoms came to call
like a doctor of Death.
They told you when you turned twenty-one,
you had about fifteen good years left.
I met you in a bar that night,
looking so bereft,
that I was drawn to you.
I was twenty-seven when,
over tears and a scotch and soda,
I told you I was barren;
it was then that you were drawn to me.
And it was after we fell in love,
you became my hero—
you became everyone’s hero.
You slew the fire-eating dragons
with water from the White Snake,
you saved my brother from the Deep,
from the Edge of the Horizon,
from the End of the World;
and another’s, a stranger’s,
whose name we never knew,
for it was nothing to you.
You fought with valor to slay the enemies in foreign lands,
as Great Balls of Fire exploded around you,
lighting up the earth like lava.
Reckless and brave, all at once.
The terrors of the night city you did not fear,
neither the cars you drove fast without purpose,
as if daring Death to take you,
and it is only now
that I know He is simply taking His time.