my father at ninety
is bright.
there is a glow about
him.
the fine tuned
brain
still clicking at
a normal
speed,
but the wheels
have fallen off.
the motor
stalls,
the wipers can't
keep the windshield
clear.
I do the best I can
to walk
with him,
to give him a shoulder,
a hand.
something he's never
needed
or asked for in his long
hard
life, but now needs
despite the unrelenting
pride.
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