His eyes so small

offering to help him
in the heat, the swelter
yet not knowing
how to ask directly

his eyes so small
crinkled in lines of smile
sunken in his face
a pallor to his cheeks

yet well-fed
despite his best efforts
sunken chin
little beard stumble

heavy wool shirt,
baggy on his body
shoulders turned inward
yet still independent

check purple and black
dark-blue Dickies, not chinos,
except where soiled as if a bucket
had been perched on his lap

soft warm hands
long nails, ridged, well-rounded
misunderstanding
what my words meant

climbing our porch
entering in behind me
as I ran in for my keys
to try to take him homeward

shuffling on himself, with a purpose
not able to articulate
where he was going
but a sense he wasn’t
truly lost yet.


July 2, 2012
written at
Poet’s Corner
monthly poetry readings
Suncook Senior Center
July 2, 2012


All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage.
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