has been dying for years
sitting in his chair.
compression socks up
to his hips.
a black beret.
sunglasses letting no one
in.
how he waddled
about,
using the walls as braille
to move from one
room to the next.
half there until
the golden child arrived
where he rose to
wrap his arms around her.
a study in the pain,
the two of them in
a strange embrace, coupled
as if no one else
was there.
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