Last Visit

Grandpa rolled with the wind

in his winged wheeled chair.

Wild frizzy gray hair

danced crazily

across his creased brow.

He stopped at my feet

and barely mouthed my name.

His chubby brown face

gracefully melted

into a frown.

He looked down

at his one whole leg

and sorrowfully rubbed

the other’s freshly stapled nub.

He shook his head,

and closed his green eyes

on my smile.

I caressed his palm

and fondled

the soft fingers

of his limp hand,

then felt the strength

of a fading man

warm my veins.

 

Shawn R. Jones