of a person’s deathbed down to the last aspirin.
They charge 25 dollars for fake lamb’s wool
on which, after surgery, patients bleed.
People die with eyes fixed on digital clocks
which flip numbers every minute, dollar signs flying.
The sidewalk out front has blades of grass
shooting up through cracks. A ladybug
(not much bigger than a decimal point) could climb
to the highest tip and fly away home
to save her children. I wonder if little things comfort
anyone. Not me. The business of love is living big.