Getting About the House

Getting About The House Old man feels his head before he steps from bed Hair once resided there so long ago Now disappeared in hippie dreams and smoke He props himself up real slow On elbow then on hand to stand Makes a right turn into the bathroom to manage issues there The world is no longer round. It lost its largeness Inside, it shrunk. It turned into the squared off rooms Meanderings, explorations, resume inside, well defined A universe that moves as slow, rigidly confined The fossil from the past moves down the hall Made a left then right to find the kitchen Still fixed in place, the same location every time, day and night Old man no longer walks in open spaces out in nature Kept warm inside with shades and blinds closed tightly Eggs and toast beside a cup of coffee hot He knows what he likes With another left and right in fuzzy slippers He whispers to himself in mumbles and in slurs Curses but no one hears a word Turns in the opposite direction to find his bed again Getting about the house gets easier every time According to him, that's what he said