A Fine Facility Like This Poem by Donal Mahoney

He's not among the quick
and not among the dead.
He's somewhere in between

he tells anyone who stops
his wheelchair in the halls
of a fine facility like this.

He couldn't make it
on his own, his kids said,
so they brought him here.

His wife stuck post-it notes
all around the house
telling him what to do

and where to find things.
He might have made it.
He thought he didn't need

a fine facility like this
with three hot meals and
sheets he can't change.

At night he has popcorn
then watches nightmares
in a fine facility like this.