dannyboy

The old gentleman needed a hand

He must be at least seventy
years of age,
Later he said the medication
made his knees tricky; his balance
a thing he cannot hang
his hat on. I found him
in the bushes, flat
out, his slippered feet, beached
eels waving in the distance.

It took a while to find
sufficient leverage
to bring him back to a standing position,
his green cardigan
covered in pine needles,
his hands scrapped but bloodless,
his lips, white but his eyes
twinkled behind his crooked glasses -
he understood the funny side
of life and as I
finally got him in the car
and took him home
he spoke about the street as if
it was still the 1950’s.

His wife hid behind the security
screen until he emerged
from my car. He touched a gentle
hand, wrinkled as the prunes
my dad once loved, to the brim
of his grey felt hat, an act
from a bygone time.

Then she appeared
on the steps and started yelling. He
turned to me
and his eyes flicked to the heavens.
I laughed.

‘He’d fallen,’ I said to her

‘You Italiano?” she replied

I shrugged and said ‘no’.

She echoed the ‘no’ then came down the steps
and helped me help him
inside their home.


I heard the wire door clang
shut as I returned to the car
and drove home thinking.

In the morning I found the place
where he had fallen, the broken
branches, flattened grass and squashed succulents
displayed his physical imprint -
though already the grass
was beginning to realign itself.

I picked up two broken branches
of the succulent
and stuck them in the earth
in my garden.

They stand there
this gradual evening, two salutes
to his infirmity that once day
I’ll own along with the hope
someone will stop for me
when I eventually fall.

graceful truth

now that is goooooooooood tv!!! laugh...could not resist it...the drama was real, the characters real, the situation sensitive...great job..no need to say I liked it , or? Graceful Truth

Foxee

Another great one, dannyboy.
I love your word choices. This use of the saying saying seems to echo the gesture in the third stanza
I stopped reading it a couple of times to reread...just because it was delightful to do so.

Thanks, dannyboy...this poem was a great day-starter. The imagery will stick with me, making me smile, for a long while.


Foxee

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Try the POSTCARD FICTION CONTEST! Closes for entries November 19. Can you write a story in 350 words or less?

nineteen

awwww. lovely. i loved the end bit, really clever. really nice story and very sentimental.

gave me a fuzzy feeling.

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(Please don't take my advice too seriously)

Oh Vanity, thy number is 19.

Redwings

It was just so enjoyable and readable. Brilliant. Sorry I can't offer anything more constructive.

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And this is where we wake in the ditch.
This is where our bodies sing no more,
Fallen apples on the floor, pecked at by redwings.