The surgicals store around the bend

The cylinders of oxygen,
Compressors, nebulizers, vents
The shop displays in lighted glass
Aroused my ghosts of recent past
That made my eyes go fully white
Until I sat down, clutching tight
The heart that seemed to beat for two.
“You did whatever you could do.”
And yet, it feels I let him down.
He’s everywhere around this town.
The streets evoke the walks, the talks,
The powdered stains of coloured chalks
That always marked his pocket seam,
The pride in striding on – full steam –
The swinging arms, the upright back,
The people stopping in their track
To bow to him in true respect,
The pocket smile he always kept,
The one he had that final day,
The one the pyre burned away.
“You did whatever you could do.”
I got up, thanked the people who
Inspected me with lazy eyes
And continued to munch on fries.
“You did whatever you could do.”
If only that sentence were true.