by-Matthew F. Blowers III

4 times I've kissed

the gaping maw of death,

one covered in a

wash of blood,

from a armless face plant

into concrete.

I can still taste the coppery

tang of it on my lips.

Begging someone,

anyone to get me a towel,

to clear the blood

so that I could

help him breath.

but he was dead

before he hit the ground,

my efforts were wasted,

but how could I let

a man die, when I

knew how to help him.

Another was just

a two year old,

with no known reasons

for her failure to breath,

tiny lips pressed to mine,

tiny breaths blown,

and gentle heart massage

so as not to break

the fragile ribs,

tiny eyes fluttered,

and I cried,

for she came back,

to embrace life, and me.

The next was a

strong black man,

who just keeled over,

on my watch,

I beat on his chest,

and blew prayers

into his lungs,

but he was gone,

Massive stroke.

I removed a

pack of camels

from his shirt pocket,

sadly shaking my head,

as I tossed them

into the trash,

while his stretcher

rolled away.

The last was a boss,

in a grocery store,

I came in from making rounds

and a crowd of people,

were standing around

watching him turn blue.

He had choked on

some corn on the cob,

and was dying.

I screamed at

the penguin crowd,

"What the hell's

the matter with you people!"

As I pounded him

on the back,

and cleared his throat

with my fingers,

and then put him

into a Heimlich maneuver.

Then he expelled

the blockage of corn

forcefully all over the crowd,

I just smiled,

as they all finally jumped

while he gasped

a most precious

breath of air.

Take a CPR course,

learn what you need to do,

What if it were your mother?

your lover, your husband?

your wife, your baby?

Are you gonna stand

there and watch them die?

God I hope not.

Believe me,

the guilt eats at you,

when someone dies

in front of you,

even after you have

done all that you could.

Two hours of training

versus a lifetime lost.

You do the math