Old Man

I keep turning the crank
making the tinny music prevail,
at least sounding somewhat
like a tune is trying to escape.

But sure as shit I think
that thing is going to pop up,
that dingy raggety macabre clown,
and that all will be the end of that.

For now CNN is on
and I keep track of
things beginning with “B”
“Breaking news” keeps my count high.

Diversion helps me veil thinking
about my toes.
I know they haven’t always
been so cold and clammy.

That reminds me I left my car keys
in the fridge yet again,
but that’s just fine
as I have not driven in 4 years.

Even my night light glares now,
but I cannot put the pillow over my head
because it occludes my breathing mask
and I choke myself awake.

My head gets hot in bursts,
I think from taking Tylenol to sleep.
I was told to take Aleve instead,
but that gives me bad dreams about cats.

My wall calendar has big spaces
large enough to tape on
doctors appointment cards
that chronicle my life.

It’s time to pee again.
I would prefer to just lie here and let go,
but then the warmth turns cold and smells
which is worse than just getting up to go.

Maybe there will be some boys
that come by and shovel my walk.
One time I heard one ask, “Who lives here?”
The other said “just some old fag.”

You know, that was O.K.
because it helped assure me
that I was still here,
sort of a validation of being.

So I’m  just cranking  this damn box.
You know they are made in Japan.
Maybe I got a bad (good) one
where no damn clown ever pops up.

I think the lady on CNN
just said news about the world ending
there were no “B” words, so I’m not sure.
Maybe I should pay better attention,

But I can’t stop thinking about my keys in the fridge.

-Jerry Wendt 2019