And it’s not even breakfast!

5.25

Turning his head hesitantly
Green glowing digits declare the time.
Malfunctioning lumbar vertebrae
However, cause him to wince with pain, so
Inch by small inch, this great man:
This father, this mechanic, this dentist, this musician
This writer, this soldier, this boxer
Presses his clenched left fist hard down
On the mattress, and, gripping the headboard
Shuffles his bum…
Life, reduced to an hour’s toil

It’s 6.19
Standing now, unable to dress
Surfing waves of pain
A spiritual man, his small prayers leaking
Takes baby steps.
Afraid to lean
He wonders where the rod and the staff are
When you need them most.
This great man
Now weak, decreased, vulnerable
Like the man on Jericho Road
In need of mercy

It’s nearly 7
Sunrise light finds birds flitting about
Fetching twigs and food
But he’s not hungry for anything vast:
His plans; now hidden from view.
Hungry only to put jeans on, a shirt,
Socks; a distant dream.
And yet, with ingenuity and time
On they go, toe by toe.
Life without warm feet
Is barely possible.
Walking pole in his hand and…

7.45
…a hundred tiny steps later
A kettle is filled, a switch thrown
And the noise of turbulence and boiling
Fills the air, strong tea is brewed.
Breakfast has begun.
This great man, toast in hand
Leaning on his elbows
Turns his head lazily and
Through the window
Sees another world;
One he used to know.