From 'the Double Poem by Morgan Michaels

But he wasn't alright. Attempting to stand, he pitched forward and would have fallen had Miggi not caught him.

'Whoa, ', ordered Miggi, 'sit back down'.

He slid Geronimo back into the chair and caught a urine smell from the tangled sheet. At some point, the old man lost it, he surmised. The cushion was wrinkled and the floor was damp around the chair.

'Pal'!

Geronimo smiled serenely. One side of his mouth sagged. His whole face sagged on one side, in fact.

'A little stroke, maybe? Yes, yes, I think so'.

He was safely seated, again.

'Squeeze my fingers', demanded Miggi, holding out two fingers of both hands, like he often did in the ED.

Geronimo grasped the fingers obediently and squeezed because he didn't lack understanding. So tightly did he squeeze the fingers of Miggi's right hand that his examiner winced and cried 'basta', because the grip was strong. Only when it loosened could he pull his fingers free. But the left hand grip was feeble and Miggi's fingers slid free with ease.

Geronimo's smile widened as if he enjoyed the game. He seemed unconscious of any shortcoming.

What did his smile mask? Once Miggi thought he saw a shade of doubt cross the old man's face but it disappeared quickly into the depths of his perennial smile.

Miggi decided Geronimo shouldn't be left alone in his neighbors' care, but belonged where he could be have 'round the clock care, as in a hospital. But how to get him there?