One moment he is a small child
where every minute moves along
at a snail’s pace,
then without warning
time speeds up,
spinning out of control
until he no longer recognizes
his face in the mirror.
.
Creeping over his shoulder
painting fine lines on his forehead,
deepening the sound of his voice,
his muscular active legs
now a rubbery, thin disgrace.
.
Waking up in the middle of the night
tossing the covers off,
trudging with his unsteady gait
trying to find the toilet
before it’s too late.
.
He sighs in relief,
he made it this far,
his memory flashes pictures
of past days,
he’s lived a good life
no regrets in his way,
accepting his fate
until old age takes him away.
