All day like a yogi
sitting on a hospital chair –
for a pat on the head
he slowly uncoils.
From inside his jersey
emerging arms search
the surrounding air
for someone to hold.

Lips touched by a spoon.
He gurgles.
Sucks up the mushed food.
“You like that Freddie?”
He doesn’t hear
or see.
As a fetus no eyes developed
from the rest of his brain.

Because he is here
we assume he is no Helen Kellar,
and don’t take time
trying to get close –
only change him
and feed him
and shave him
and bathe him.
Push him onto the veranda on this sunny day
then push him to bed.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *