This Old Man


Walking slowly into the bright white hospital,

My hands trembling to see him.

The strong smell of latex and cleanser surrounds me.

An old, fragile man sitting in a chair;

No muscle or color to his face.

The man I remember was a strong, smiling person, but that was two years ago.


The room is silent, except for his beating heart monitor.

I stand against the white cabinets listening to his words.

He says he is going to change, but I know he will not.

I nervously slide my hand against the smooth countertop.


This old man is not that old, for he is only forty-five.


He is my father.


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