He slowly pattered to the chair
Cloth rubbed raw and chafing
Slippers worn and in their place
Pipe and Ashtray next to the lighter
his wife had given him on Memorial Day.
His body bent forward
and his gaze fell on the carpet
threadbare from walking and pacing
during illness and crisis.
He was alone now
Slowly dying
and living slowly.
He watched the flickering television
looking for meaning
and not looking at all.
Did he remember the President
and the year
or did he remember a kiss in 1947...
Or was it ‘48?
He felt a tightening in his chest
and knew his end was coming
He closed his eyes
and remembered the past
thought about the future
and prayed to whatever God
was up there.
When he died
They removed the body
Boxed his belongings
Threw them in the trash
Emptied his bank accounts
and went on living.
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September 22, 2005
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Rick's Poetry Book
February 2006
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