Death rattle

The breath inside him gurgles
heavy, asthmatic, and laboured,
as oxygen attempts to filter
its way through accumulating fluid.

Like the old coffee-maker at home
(it always spits and sputters
through the last twenty minutes
of dinner): a loud, wet, bubbling
that fills the room.

The pamphlet in his room describes
this as the 'death rattle':
the lungs' loud announcement
of the lingering, but nearing end.

We sit at the dinner table
with empty mugs, waiting.
It will be less than an hour
before it is finished.