THE OLD MAN
(A poem about my dad)

By Kat

He’s just a breath of the husky,
talkative man he once was.
Old, frail, and wispy haired
he silently sits, staring into space.
The t.v. blares incessantly
while he thinks who knows what?

He chews a tooth pick, flicking
it from corner to corner of his mouth.
All day he rocks back and forth
in the creaking chair.
It keeps rhythm, like a metronome,
with the old man’s thoughts.

Once in a while, something on t.v.
grabs him making him laugh.
Like he did in the days before his wife died,
then he was happier.
Nothing seems to matter now;
he hardly notices those around him.

Unless one of his grandchildren
or his daughter bend to talk.
Aiming at his good ear,
with some hearing the other is stone deaf.
After the interruption, he continues
staring, chewing, and rocking.

Years pass as the man faces each day
exactly like the day before.
Then time comes when his chair
sits empty in front of a silent t.v.
A hospital bed embraces him,
curled and snuggled under the covers.

Like a fetus, warmed by a mother’s womb,
he lapses into a deep sleep.
Visitors stop by, trying to cheer him,
but he barely responds to them.
He sleeps and dreams,
wanting to escape this world. Then he does!

Written: January 24, 2001
Copyright: 2001
Book: With Wings as Eagles
Published in: The Silence Within
Recorded in: The Sound of Poetry