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Weldon Kees - Saratoga Ending
Work rating: Low

1. 
         Iron, sulphur, steam: the wastes 
         Of all resorts like this have left their traces. 
         Old canes and crutches line the walls. Light 
         Floods the room, stripped from the pool, broken 
         And shimmering like scales. Hidden 
         By curtains, women dry themselves 
         Before the fire and review 
         The service at hotels, 
         The ways of dying, ways of sleep, 
         The blind ataxia patient from New York, 
         And all the others who were here a year ago. 


    2. 
    Visconti, mad with pain. Each day, 
    Two hundred drops of laudanum. Hagen, who writhes 
    With every step. The Count, a shrunken penis 
    And a monocle, dreaming of horses in the sun, 
    Covered with flies.—Last night I woke in sweat 
    To see my hands, white, curled upon the sheet 
    Like withered leaves. I thought of days 
    So many years ago, hauling driftwood up from the shore, 
    Waking at noon, the harbor birds following 
    Boats from the mainland. And then no thoughts at all. 
    Morphine at five. A cold dawn breaking. Rain. 


3. 
I lie here in the dark, trying to remember 
What my life has taught me. The driveway lights blur 
In the rain. A rubber-tired metal cart goes by, 
Followed by a nurse; and something rattles 
Like glasses being removed after 
A party is over and the guests have gone. 
Test tubes, beakers, graduates, thermometers— 
Companions of these years that I no longer count. 
I reach for a cigarette and my fingers 
Touch a tongue depressor that I use 
As a bookmark; and all I know 
Is the touch of this wood in the darkness, remembering 
The warmth of one bright summer half a life ago— 
A blue sky and a blinding sun, the face 
Of one long dead who, high above the shore, 
Looked down on waves across the sand, on rows of yellow jars 
In which the lemon trees were ripening.
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