And now for something completely different.
Mirror Mirror On The Wall.
I can’t help but watch him
that old man
as he staggers across the room
with that unusual gait
punctuated by the odd stumble
I hear his groans and feel his pain
sometimes with a few profane words
he drags himself from the couch or chair
pauses for a moment to regain his balance
I sense his reluctance to bend down
and pick things off the floor
I’m fascinated by those hands
light brown withered looking bony structures
with their pronounced veins
running along the back of them
and up his slim arms
I sense his annoyance
that they’re not as strong as they used to be
I feel his regret
that he can’t do the things he once did with ease
I often think
that to have lived that long
he must have a chest full
of memories and experiences
that should be worth something
but what puzzles me most
is when
I look in the mirror
I see him and not me.
