A Hard Sixty

A Hard Sixty

Danny sat quietly in his wheelchair, the Marine Corps ball cap on
No more Hoorahs, Semper Fi’s or glory for this old man of sixty
Just days spent confused, sitting in his wheelchair or lying in bed

Dark brown and yellow nicotine stains cover his pointer and index fingers
A wheelchair ride or push out to the patio to indulge in a Newport Menthol
His only remaining vice, to sit in the sun and inhale his beloved cigarettes

The other vices that drove him here are gone forever, their toll extracted
They have laid him to waste as surely as I write this with great sadness
A hard sixty is not pleasant to see, less so to ponder, to understand

Once a young man, all Marine Corps tough, ripped, solid as hell
Terrible things can happen in a young mans’ life that last forever
They can take you to places that one never imagined or believed

The pain of youth is calmed now, the onset of oblivion apparent
Who knows who no longer matters, just a wheelchair ride outside
A smoke, a far away look and the quietness of waiting for the end

There is the occasional smile, a flicker of lucidity, once in a while
A question, a look of confusion, a comment, but mostly quietness
Thirty pounds of muscle has melted away as atrophy invades

A kind brother–in –spirit who takes the time out of his life to visit him
Lovingly trying to comfort him in his remaining days, as he always has
A sister who loves him so, Mom who is unaware, another Alzheimer’s victim

Quietly he sits in his wheelchair on this bright and snow covered day
The Newport Menthol appears to give him pleasure and he draws it in
Quietly he sits in a world far away, full of giraffes and zebras playing

A hard sixty is a scary thought from my point of view, hopefully not his
It seems that his demons have finally gone away, perhaps just to sleep
He is quiet now and appears at peace, something he knew little of before

There but for the Grace of God, go I