Nursing Home

Those silent wheelchairs stalk the quiet hall,
some moving slowly, others not at all.
Yet every single one contains a face,
a wrinkled, careworn soul who’s now a case
to study, care for, wash and sometimes groom
in private space unlike their former room
at home where everything familiar stood
around them looking bright and young and good,
reminding them of lives they’d mostly had
before their limbs grew weak and outlook sad.

Expressions say a lot to clue us in
about their thoughts. Some patients even grin
and say hello, while others seem to be
in still another place that we can’t see.
It’s hard to watch this scene, but caring staff
look after them with love to help them laugh
(sometimes), applying something more than skill
and coaxing them to work beyond their will
to just once more exceed their state and try
an extra day their status to belie.

One morning little kids came in to sing,
a simple-sounding, entertaining thing,
pre-schoolers all, their scrubbed and shiny faces
bent on bringing Christmas cheer to places
in our minds not used to innocence.
Their songs and gestures lacking all pretense
gave little hint that some of them one day
might find a waiting wheelchair as their pay.
The lyrics weren’t the least bit hard to follow,
but some of us then found it tough to swallow.