One more silence to add
To all the rest, resting in
Peace perhaps, he surmises
Leaning back into his agitation.
It’s hard to sort the maybe
From the inevitability of
Dissolution. Words swirl
Perhaps, thinking thoughts
Being in nine decades
Past what most think
Convenient, too old to
Learn the new procedures,
Too set in his ways to
Accept the urging down
The stairs, the bucket
At the bottom, the crutches
And alarm clock chanting
Electronically with no way
To shut it off, the instructions
Being too small to read with
The weak eyes of such a man.
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