The old man shuffles down the long corridor of the nursing home
Doffing his hat to the wheel chair bound blind lady
Offering a mumbled “Good morning’ to the deaf man
His sadness causing a frail birch bending of his once-oak body.
His granddaughters round the corner.
“Grandpa!”
He pulls himself to his diminished height and
Braces against the handrail for the hugs of tiny girls that could send him reeling
And smiles as if all is right with the world.
Outside on his favorite bench by the fountain,
He turns his face to the sun and says,
“It’s so good to be outside. This reminds me of Italy.”
Lucid remembrances are interrupted by psychotic intruders
Who can be shooed away by gentle redirection to the Appian Way.
The young girls run barefoot through the perfectly manicured lawn,
squealing delight in the joy of movement.
Grandfather calls them to him.
“Line up over here, you three.”
He stands on unsteady, egret legs.
We’re going to have a race.
“On the count of three…”
The mother of the young girls screams.
“DAD!”
He has forgotten for one glorious moment that he cannot run.
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