Today, my darling Jerry showered 'all by himself'. I was indeed thrilled to witness this latest example of his 'independence', though slightly disappointed that from now on I will miss our daily moment of togetherness...
Like Puffing Billy under full steam,
you chuff and chug
your way into the shower.
You shed your clothes at high speed,
revealing battle marks of recent surgery
that join those now long faded -
where bottles, bikes
and boxing gloves
have made an indelible stamp.
You stand under the water,
cursing, the new control -
‘What’s the matter with this stupid thing? '
Then lather your body
compulsively,
belligerently,
as though soap and water
might somehow wash away
the helplessness you hate so much.
I scrub your back
‘Oooh, yes please…’
and wash your pretty feet.
The steam fogs up my glasses.
Your skin is smooth as soap.
Your buttocks, freckle-cheeked
(and sexy still at seventy eight) .
I notice your fresh clothes
(old habits never die)
laid out in regimental order
on the bed -
shoes spat and polished,
socks folded the way mum used to.
I help you dry and dress,
and trim your mo’.
Your good hand cheekily squeezes my bum.
‘My poor little girl.
Fancy being stuck with an old cripple.’
Oh my darling, you don't know the half of it...
Full Speed Ahead encouraged me with facing the new year. Your first stanza gives a vivid picture of a chugging choo-choo. The next two stanzas tell me that I must deal with the old and new. I can understand the need to be independent and empagthize with the growing helplessness. I wish I had more of your patience and that kind of aged love that is not just skin deep but still appreciates all the accidentals.