what are the secrets of every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance?
An Interview with Old Age
The cup served up empty memories
injecting indignation and frustration
The comforts of home were left on
on a couple of different sets of doorsteps
And they’ve been sold a long time ago...
All that’s left is the empty plot beside his side
in the place that winter will never lay snow -
then finally maybe sight will return to both eyes
‘The’ for your own protection ‘four sanitary walls’,
extra ‘piped in air’ that deflated independence
will vanish with the life well spent... and then the
rest can do what they want with what remains.
It’s getting so the stall air of hospitals is becoming the
tastiest thing that’s left for wallowing, swallowing since
age is preventing the surgery to correct new ills - that
seems to be the natural course on this Merry-go-round
Giving up once was a choice, then it turned into a circus
there may be only one ring left... where’s the spotlight?
Injected with indignation and frustration
the empty memories seem to serve no purpose, tea?
©JP/davh
Note: this may not be exactly where the prompt wanted me to go.
But I write about what is happening in my life, stuff that ‘touches’ me.
I’m getting older too, but this about another's journey, so far.
Jules, Did you get my message about the Pleiades form?
ReplyDeletebeautifully put Jules - sad but so true, particularly liked " The cup served up empty memories - injecting indignation and frustration" and the way the poem comes full circle - excellent stuff!
ReplyDeleteStrong writing about the sadness and frustrations of advanced old age. So much left behind, so little to look forward to. All we can hope as we ourselves travel that road, that our outcome will be more positive and we'll be allowed to keep our dignity to the end.
ReplyDelete