Gary Beck, Transitions

Ailing Elder

As the days grow shorter
my hopes diminish
that I will live
to see another spring.
The nursing home staff
do not care
if I live or die,
indifferent to my needs,
but will not terminate me,
as long as I don’t cause problems.
I know they snuffed
that nice woman
in room 306
who complained non-stop,
then suddenly had a stroke.
The food is awful.
They rarely change the sheets.
The toilet always stinks.
They yell at us all the time,
even hit us. If we protest
we have an accident.
They happen all the time.
Soon I must decide
if I’ve had enough
of what my life’s become.
There’s no one who cares,
so my only concern
will be how to end things.

Sour Note

We heard the song of morning,
hummed it in the afternoon,
felt the echo in the evening
as the pace of day subsided,
acts of night began.
Burglars breaking and entering,
robbers, muggers disrupting,
polluting drug transactions,
random acts of violence
the syncopation
of a confiscated city,
slowly overwhelmed
by forces of darkness.

Vital Signs

Before history kept a record
everyone believed in omens.
If they were favorable,
good hunting and gathering
fed the tribe,
evaded predators,
survived crises.
Unfavorable omens explained
everything bad that happened,
hunger, illness, disease, death,
because there had to be a reason
why disasters occurred,
otherwise the tribe
would be forced to accept
the unfairness of life.