The Slinky
Do we ever lose that propensity
to toy with toys? I’m watching the well
weathered resident, confined to a
wheelchair by age and the carelessness
of his youth, as he holds a Slinky,
one end in each hand, each hands
moving up, then down as if he were
saying, “maybe no—maybe so.”
Each end of this coy and coiling gift
rests on the paper thin skin of his palms,
the phalanges, like a nest of broken twigs
grasps each end of this almost living thing.
On his face, there were his mouth retreats
from a too long, too brief life, you can
see a sort of lazy smile—and easy
Mona Lisa smile—unhindered by the teeth
that once peeked past the lips, teeth
now just as gone as his memories.
His hearing may be weak, but clearly he
hears the springy singing of the coils
as they dance before his fading sight.
Article submitted Sunday, July 05, 2009 & read 22 times.
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