What It Feels Like to Watch Someone Drown

I watched my grandfather drown in his own lungs.

The cancer came and never left,

Built up fluid in his chest so tight he

Couldn't breathe around it.

My hand was on his forehead when it happened:

His last gargled breath,

So shallow we barely noticed that

After months, weeks, days, hours,

That was it.

I'm convinced it is the cruelest way to die,

At least for a man who knew how to swim,

Who could've saved his own life

Had the fluid been outside him, but

Instead it flooded his thoracic cage,

Built up around his heart until it couldn't beat.

Around us now the world is drowning,

Nations of do-gooders who remain convinced

That if we saw a person struggling in a river

We would jump in after,

Or at least call 911.

But I've seen the videos we take.

Last month I saw hordes surround

A man who jumped off a bridge, and

Instead of jumping after, the hordes

Pulled out their phones to take pictures.

Tens of thousands drowning in their own lungs,

The cruelest way to die,

And instead of helping we take pictures;

Just this morning I saw a group of friends out for a run,

Knowing each droplet of sweat acts as a vector.

Those droplets are filling up the lungs

Of a drowning world and yet

Instead of jumping in by stepping back,

We pull our phones out

And take pictures.