Forty Years Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He's drifted off
as he so often does
lately,
after dessert,
doc says it's starch,
sugars and such,
drive up
the insulin.
God help me if
he turns out
with sugar diabetes,
they get bed ridden
and smell like acetone,
pee every hour,
all night
and can't get it
past 15 degrees
on their best days.
Forty years,
boy where
HAS the time gone?
I'll close this now,
dear diary,
you have been
my very best friend,
adviser, and you
never failed
to be there
for confession time.
Now I know,
and I have only you,
the wise one
to thank,
I've been going up
the down staircase.
All these years.