a visit home

he
wheezes

a first outing
into uncontrolled air
and it exhausts him
completely

as though
he has been laboring
for hours

his breath
hoarsely stertorous
verging on distressed

he looks around
everywhere

the familiar home
of fifty years
is more than halfway
to seeming
a stranger

his first beer
after a week of hospitalization
taken from his personally
refrigerated stock
is
almost
too cold to bear
but he mans up
and gulps it down

there is little pleasure
much grimness
in this visit
and the stress of breathing
drives him
to return to the hospital
in the hope
of easier air

she
is trying to close
a recalcitrant car door
while standing committedly
within its arc

eventually
moving her wheelie-walker
out of the way
and stooping profoundly
she steers
to a confrontation
with a stubborn step
that will neither
remove itself
nor take action to minimize
it’s own height

the corridor lies beyond

she starts the wheeled contraption
moving
to initiate a full-load wash
in the automatic machine
situated in the laundry
despite having forgotten
the soiled laundry
that remains
at her hospital bedside

oh well

the finances drawer
is next
squeezed between the nested tables
and the rocking chair
just an over-balance away
from a fracture

like last time

but he
is hoarsely stertorous
as though he’s watching
with alarm
as she
attempts to close
a recalcitrant car door
while standing
committedly
inside
its arc

---

© Frank Prem, 2017

Poem #28: mote song