Because we could not shrink ourselves, because
we were not antibodies, because we could not enter him
like maniacs with brushes and mops
to wipe the mess from his lungs,

clean up every bit of the racking clutter
that made each breath a torture,

because we could not even follow him
downstairs to the ICU,
down one step closer to getting out of here
altogether, because we were left
post-crisis, so suddenly, in the room

at night, when fluorescence really hurts,
and shows the litter of crumpled notes

and candy wrappers -- because we were human-size,
life-size, we filled three bags with tissues
and petals, paper slippers,
a blue plastic straw, his pencil, 7-Eleven cups,
and other used things -- boy did we tidy up
Room 5108.