No Greater Misfortune

Have you seen the old? The old and alone? There is no greater misofrune.

In the grocery store like Whitman evoked in Ginsburg. Trembling hands reaching out for fresh spring fruit. Sagging, shuffling through the meat killed red blooded. Cloudy eyes they live with cats. Alone. Except for the evening news and Opera. Kids done flew, spouse dead, fumbling toward death. Tumor head black mass brain. Preparing for bed in the etherized evening shadow light. Blast through walls. Light. Dripping etherized. One day, fingers like claws razor toed. One day, lock you away, talk to yourself like Ajax shell-shocked by too many years.