At the Nursing Home
At the Nursing HomeA turtle of a man--
brown, leathery skin,
wrinkled neck,
bald head,
tiny eyes--
and a mouth like a beak
(because he had forgotten
to put his dentures in
that morning)
traveled down the hallway.
His teeth were still sitting
on the nightstand by his bed.
Not much snap left in them anymore anyway.
From inside the hard shell
of his wheelchair,
he pulled himself slowly
down the long white tiled floor
with just his shuffling feet
in scuffed leather slippers.
His hands held the elbows
of his arms
pulled up tight
against his stomach
as if he were holding something
to his chest
that he didn't want to share.
He crept along the white hallway
the way a snapping turtle
can sometimes be seen
crawling down a road.
Neither knowing his destination.
No one else knowing either.
Although, he moved by inches,
time was flying quickly by him
like a bird in the air above him.
It swooped just by his head
so close
that he felt the breeze
from its wings
on his ears.
He raised his head
trying to keep his eye on the bird
as it darted past him and away down the hall.
He wanted to catch that bird
and hold it still,
but it moved too fast for him,
and got away from him,
as it does for us all.
