Page 30 - Contrast1989

CONTRAST 1989

The Age of LoneUness

The hot afternoon sunlight
pierces the Venetian blinds
splotching slender rays across my
collection of B&O magazines.

I tightly grasp
my wooden bedposts,
pulling my slumped body upward.
My left and right hands slip
routinely along the metal railing,
guiding my hunched form
around my one room extstence,

The bathroom reeks of lysol.
My thin Wrinkled fingers
flick on the light.
In the mirror,
my bony, worn-out face stares coldly at me.
I scowl
at the photograph of my grandkids,
taped to the white plaster wall.
I haven't seen them Since last Christmas.

My hands shake
as I twist the faucet,
and watch the water
drain into the papercup.
I SWallow... hard
three white pills.

I drag my arthritic left foot,
on my daily return route towards my bed.
I lay my slouched body
across the warm sheets,
pulling my sweater tighter,

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