There he sits, in his wheelchair,
hunched over,
drool oozing slowly out of the corner of his mouth.
Wizened, old skin pulled taut over his boney body.
His arms, once muscular and strong, now weakened and scrawny from age and disuse.
Shoulders and arms, covered in tattoos telling all who care to see, a story about his younger, more vibrant days.
A tall ship, an anchor, a heart, the name Betty Sue lovingly penned over a bed of roses.
Each one now faded over time, mirroring the body they call the host.
The old man's eyes gaze intently down at his hands
They are moving endlessly, furiously...yet accomplishing nothing.
What does he see in those busy, but empty hands?
We see nothing...yet he sees everything....
His first born child bouncing on his knee, laughing and asking for more,
His pen madly writing love letters to his young wife as he fights in the great war,
His loyal and faithful old dog begging to be pet,
His first grandchild cooing and playing with his crooked fingers.....he sees everything...
The old man sits in his wheelchair.
Smiling and laughing like he has not a care in the world.
Hands moving frantically, drool oozing lazily, waiting for the next memory to take him away from the state he is in....
