Prometheus in the
Retirement Home

Seething civility full-nelsoned into submission:
so many bloodless lips
behind the unrolled blinds which
dull the moving light.

The flaky fluids, sunburn and acne scars
are cadences and deductions,
terminal proclamations in the coal-dust
mountains of his mind.

For centuries he lived on boiling air,
guzzling greedy gulps until
his throat belched black oil.
In his swollen sleep his glands swelled
and he grew, subduing the peaks until,
a great flesh husk, he overshadowed his world.

But tonight only the ach! e
of a shattered hip
keeps him connected
through dim eyes and uneasy bowels
to a bony cone who says

"I am too young for your negations,
"The blankety blanks,
"The deadening dun
"Left in their wake,"

Until he reaches for his cane...

Sutured to his rolling chair
he prepares for
the gathering and dispersing,
hoping to regenerate.

It`s worse than the blistering crag.

Alex Sager

If you've any comments on this poem, Alex Sager would be pleased to hear from you.

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