4 strings, outgrown in an age of 5
(or was it 5, and 4 now ring?)
you said it was the kind they use in the Mummer's Parade
come down from his days as a messenger boy
1919
(you kept his leather portfolio)
your father, that boy made good by the boss's money
(but you knew
he was already good)
you could fill the pouch
with your own papers
but the banjo was useless
you took it to
the Whosoever
Gospel Mission
(you cried)
you could have given it
to my mother
to me
(I intend to buy it back)
love has no use
to express the elderly
clear stated
going
you
the both
a supposed office
is office evidence
community makes office
which community
enforcement
is murder
—even iron wears out
lifting himself against the bedrails
struggling like an old man
and he was an old man
suddenly
legs scaling like peeled
wall paper
monitor leads pulled off
buzzing buzzing shrilling
red lights
I was afraid to touch him
an old man
wild and forgotten
scanning blank walls
for another story
afraid
I was afraid to touch him
me, who knew hospitals
helpless
to move bed rails
shift catheters
adjust O2
I backed away
said it was out of respect
for his modesty
said I
didn't know what he wanted
I was afraid to touch him
and he slid
through soiled sheets
to the floor
