Monday, July 22, 2013

V. 2, #116: July 22, 2013

He calls his daughter by her mother's name,
and doesn't recognize his son at all.
He's been quite lucky--never had a fall,
at least not yet. Most days are just the same:

breakfast, then TV. Sometimes exercise,
or else board games. Miss Johnson thinks the staff
steal blood from them at night. It makes him laugh.
Bedtime, he says his prayers and wipes his eyes,

and wonders how he ended up this way--
an empty shell, a burden, nothing more.
Sometimes he smells his mother's biscuits, yeast
and butter--how it makes his stomach sore!
He wakes at five-fifteen A.M. each day.
He gets to watch the sun come up, at least.

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