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Boulder shoulders, bursting biceps,
      terrifying to see.
A menacing mountain of a man,
     well, he used to be.

He would brutally barrel through each
     frightened, fleeing foe.
Many feared him so, although that
     was long, long ago.

Now, from beneath the bony, bushy
     brows of his frayed face,
He casts a ghostly gaze at his veins,
     I.V. needles in place.

His shrunken, skeletal frame sinks
     stolid in the stretcher.
His skin, the tinge and touch of the
     back of a peeled wallpaper.

Here he must wait and wilt away
     the weeks till the end arrives.
Behind this nursing home's closed doors
     hide closing and closed lives!

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