One Hour And Thirty Seven Minutes Later Poem by JoAnn McGrath

One Hour and thirty seven minutes later.
We arrived for 'The Tour'
of the Ohio Veterans Home Alzheimer's wing

You not understanding
(Thankfully)
That this will be your...
...last home
...last bed
...last pillow
to rest your head.

I on the other hand
I am biting the inside of my cheek
to stop the tears.
Seeing all these proud men of war
who served us so well,
come full circle.

Born in innocence
and in death naivete.
The waiting now is the hardest part.

'What do you think of this place? '
My mother asks
I say it's very clean
(sorry for the stereotype)
It doesn't smell like a nursing home.
The staff all have smiles.
They look like they want to be here.
(I've seen my share were neither is true)

Truthfully though
I let the tears flow.
I feel like I'm picking out his funeral.

The ride home a quiet somber one.
No words said
One hour and thirty seven minutes later.



14 June 2008



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