Old Man Sitting Poem by John Ackerman

Old Man Sitting

The bones are brittle
as are the thoughts
they crumble
events of yesterdays that never happened
things that happened not remembered
today becomes another time
faces and events mingle
become a crazy quilt

He sits and stares
unaware of a spreading map
in his crotch that moves down
his legs and becomes a puddle
at his feet

His hands dangle at his sides
veiny gnarled
twitching
are they waiting for some message
from that dead brain
his pulse is almost an insult

They say he feels no pain



Old Man Sitting

The bones are brittle
as are the thoughts
they crumble
events of yesterdays that never happened
things that happened not remembered
today becomes another time
faces and events mingle
become a crazy quilt

He sits and stares
unaware of a spreading map
in his crotch that moves down
his legs and becomes a puddle
at his feet

His hands dangle at his sides
veiny gnarled
twitching
are they waiting for some message
from that dead brain
his pulse is almost an insult

They say he feels no pain