Poor You, Poor, Poor You


Poor You, Poor, Poor You

Poor You, Poor, Poor You

I had had a pretty bad day. Everything I touched fell over or crashed to the floor.
It happened so often I didn’t think I could take it any more.
I misread the clock, got my hand stuck in a crock and the cookie crumbled.
I saw that I was late, I would miss my mate so I hurried and I stumbled,
I cracked my shin on the steel-framed chair and I caught my hair
In the drawer as my head hit it sidelong and it slid like a kid on a dare.

Well I finally got out, but the car had a flat, and I pinched my finger
As I jacked up the car and I bruised my knee when the wrench lingered
Then snapped and jumped off of the nut, it nearly drove Me out of MY nut,
And I got this real sick feeling down deep in my gut
That this day really did not augur me well. Well I finally got it together
And arrived at the home to comfort my dear wife, my beloved and loving tether.

I limped inside and found my true love, slumped and debilitated in her wheelchair, both of them old.
One look and she beckoned, “Come to me dear,” and caressing my cheek murmured, “Poor you. Poor, poor old you.”

CREDIT: goo.gl/thzEyg

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Judge at 6th Rabindrinath Tagore Awards - International - English Poetry Contest Author of Ann, A Tribute, and Chasing a Butterfly, A story of love and loss to Acceptance
This entry was posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Faithful, Irony, Memories, My butterfly, Poetry, Tribute and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Poor You, Poor, Poor You

  1. Marilyn Brewer says:


  2. admin says:

    Thanks very much CraigAAdams. Glad you liked it.

  3. admin says:

    Thank you MarilynBrewer for liking my blog.

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