Two Sonnets for a Cranky Old Man

Aging Not So Gracefully

Smiling, nodding, comprehending, and agreeing;
but in truth not understanding, nor agreeing,
But unpredictable, tearful, even wrathful,
worrying about his honor and his past
struggling for some fleeting honor that would last,
a place in the eternal sun where worries blend
one by one into an flimsy peaceful end.
Smiling, nodding, sitting in the sun alone
Worrying over liver spots upon his brow
and knees that forbid him kneeling even now,
even where kneeling may desiréd be for one
not humble, but prideful, even spiteful now
when his glorious recognition doesn’t come
because the infernal teller won’t pay off the chips.

How crass, he thinks now, not to remember me,
not to hear me, not to see me, not to heed me,
sitting almost invisibly in the sun
casting no shadow, which is a dangerous thing
for one whose course is run, whose day is done
who has no final bow, no final song to sing
and no applause before the final curtain call.
Is he a wraith robed only in a linen pall?
Is he like his shadow, a vague ephemeral thing
wishing he could have one last everlasting fling,
something bold, something striking, something fun
for one miserable being who has forgotten fun,
shivering in isolation on his chair
in Bitter Haven Nursing Home, enjoying his despair?