JIM: A POEM

jimmy_2_456Not dead. Not yet.

You’re locked in a mind
empty of love or hope.

A body walking still 
not aware
of past or future only a bleak
present 
of familiar surroundings
traded for a nursing home

chair as unable to cope
you simply sit and wait.

At home your wife and 
your dog
drift through the lonely hours
as 
trapped by your lack of recognition

as you while your friends lament for
the person
 you were and regret
we didn’t do more.

Not dead. Not yet.

Yamba Woora 16 March 2004

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