aged

The steps to the house are loose

Broken

The door does not lock

The windows allow rain in

There is mold and the smell of rot.

The old man

Fleeing the old people’s home

Makes his way here and stumbles in the front door.

When he was a young man

The road here was manageable

Now it is clogged with cars

They are knocking his house down soon

But one more night in his own room

Before they find him in the morning.

2 comments

Very poignant. I’m glad to see that you’re not succumbing to the modern euphemisms. “Old” is a good word. Geez, can you imagine trying to rhyme with “senior citizen”. Sometimes they even change the words but make no improvements. There are many “nursing homes” that do no nursing and should probably be called abuse-and-neglect homes for the wretched of too many years. Well, I suppose there were a few “old folks homes” that were actually folksy and homey. Maybe not many.
Clever use of the “in” sound in “broken” going with the rain “in”. Strong image to the “door” that helps the ending “morning”. What bad rotten luck and lot in fate and moldings.
Thanks for the well done poem.

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