Old man talking

A half finished roll-me-own

One end chewed and soggy

The smoke rises and falls of

Its own mind

Hanging between two fingers

With the intention of falling

But not the commitment


His rheumy eyes

Clouded with pain killers


A faded photograph

Moving, peering

Like moles not quite

Breaking the top soil

A wet tear irritates his skin.


He pauses

Sniffs coughs puffs


His brown black teeth

His too red gums

His tongue constantly breaking

Through dry lips

An annoying inquisitive child


His voice rasping and crumbly

Like a burnt biscuit

Never straying from

The pattern of half

Lost words and merged memories

Laughing at unsaid jokes

Breaking when his thoughts

Scramble for coherence

Or when he realises

There is no one sitting near him

And he is the island

In the sea of practical sofas

In his adjustable bed

In the dark


In his soul

He dances through his memories



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s