The clock ticks
Like a single finger drumming away
Life's last pathetic days.
Faded photographs line the sideboard
Staring down with kind endearment,
Posed smiles hiding sympathy.
In his armchair he shifts his weight.
No sport 'til ten on the box
And his bag needs emptying.
The thick lensed glasses
Mask eyes of silent resignation.
His children have all gone now,
Some married, some buried.
Taking life's reason from his wife
She giving up years ago
Now waiting for him to join her.
But then he always was stubborn,
He doesn't know when to quit.
Right now listening to the clock
He wishes he did.