I Need a Doctor

A lady in a light blue sweater screamed.
It stabbed the church,
with only fifteen members seated,
the rest milling in the narthex.
All people sitting hurled themselves at
a sleeping man wearing a pressed shirt,
slumped in a pew. Anne broke into the sanctuary.
The wood doors closed,
and the lady wept large, exasperated tears.
A cell phone buzzed the numbers 9...1...1.
Defibrillators sang a dead beat,
but they continued pumping.
Ambulances arrived at the ten-minute mark.
There wasn't a pulse.
A stretcher sank with sorrow
as he was lifted on. As if
it knew the future.
He was wheeled to a room
labeled in cheery letters, WEST WING.
As the service ended,
we found out the news:
Marcus of Ivanrest was DEAD,