The man with cane
walks feet wide apart
as if straddling three logs,
patiently up his driveway
clutching mail.
Tolerates snail’s pace infirmity
to the letterbox,
and a watermelon sized prostate.
Has no choice,
ageing is
an ascending escalator that shuts down,
makes him sweat small steps
as if on a tightrope, sideways;
back to the kitchen
where cuppa’s cold
and letter notes pension truncation.
Going to the moon
was just ‘one small step for man’¹
the front gate is further
where bad news in the post travels
only as fast
as he can carry it.
1. Neil Armstrong.
Pete Dowe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cane-for-the-driveway/
