This Old Man

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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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