DAD

The edifice is crumbling
He who was tall, proud and upright
(quaveringly so, but able)
Is now felled Like a hewed tree.

The bed now, but soon the earth
Will hold those brittle bones.

She lifts him
Turns him
Whisks flannel and towel
About his defenceless nakedness . . .

Old eyes, blue and fiercely
accusing,
Glare at us helplessly
In dumb reproach
Above the rolled up sheets,
Daring us to invade
His guarded privacy.

I turn away . . .

Oh God, to think that from
That glimpsed diminutive thing --
Pathetic, flaccid, shrunken . . .
("Come, let’s clean you up, dear. Relax")
One golden moment
Years ago
In pride and ecstasy
I BEGAN.