That Old Sun Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Since mom died his hands won't stop shaking.
Since mom went away the look in  the old mans eye changed.
He sits for long periods of time staring into memories.
That worn recliner that won't let back anymore.
The dishes pile up, he replies that everything is fine.
Everything indeed is not fine. Strands of gray hair protrude through
His once black wooly hair.
The nights spent watching the late show and every infomercial that followed.
The thought that she's working late keeps him company.
The blinds kept closed
Waiting on that old flat white door to open once more.
He grabs his flannel jacket waiting outside for her return.
Still she never shows.
Her side of the bed still untouched. Still made from the last time she laid there.
Late nights you can hear him talking.
Unpaid bills stacking higher and higher.
Past due notices stuck in the screen door.
He sits and he sulks
Hair grown ragged. Wild and bushy like.
His hands shake through the throb of his pulse silently echoing just above his thumb.
His sunken in face, malnourished.
The house a wreck, avoiding the mirror in the living room as it reminds him of her stare.
Since mom died that old sun just doesn't shine.