Harold
Harold is flat on his back all the time. He can’t ever get up. He does not let life keep him down. He is often in discomfort and pain as his body continues to waste away. His spirit is alive and kicking. He is gracious, and his bright eyes envelop anyone who comes in the door. When we converse, he would speaks in phrases…with very descriptive words. One day, he was telling me about a bull that he came face to face with years ago. I liked the story and asked him to tell it again. I wrote it down as he told it to me and it came out as prose. It was beautiful.
Another day, he was feeling down and I asked him to put it into words. The following poem flowed out and I wrote it down.
Bitterness
Once able to do
Now
Miss people
Having somebody
People
Busy people
I think of myself
As important
They don’t understand
Why should they?
Too much on their minds
So I sit here
And I click
Me and my TV remote
Chewing gum for eyes
And there’s the plastic dog
On my windowsill
I see a bush outside
And a garbage dumpster
Leaves drop and blow
They come back
Rejuvenate
I don’t want to click
I want to read
