Angles

He’s cursed with Parkinson’s disease;
I only have these dodgy knees.
His pills cause awful side-effects;
Viagra helps me to have sex,
while he has had to give it up -
he lacks the self-control to fuck.
He gives his all to keep his limbs
in check, not undermining him.

These days I watch the match alone,
he has the radio at home
and will not join me in the bar -
he’s off the booze, the walk’s too far.
Folk stared at his unsteady gait -
excuses just humiliate.
He finds solace in Jesus Christ;
I’ve lost it by the seventh pint.

And so on Summer days like this
I come along to help him fish.
He sits for hours without a bite,
we chat, I spot a passing kite
and note the shimmer of the lake
reflects his tremor, now a shake
endeavouring to bait the hook;
the fish, like me, can’t bear to look.

About This Poem

Editing Stage: Editing - polished draft

About the Author

Country/Region: England

Favorite Poets: John Cooper Clarke , Fleur Adcock , Carol Anne Duffy , Derek Mahon

Comments

neopoet

5 months ago

Neopoet AI 5-29-23 version

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Ruby Lord

5 months ago

Hi Ray, this is a wonderful

Hi Ray, this is a wonderful poem. It made me think about the relationships we form which are then lost through the process of old age or illness. It comes across as heartfelt laced with your humour. Your use of enjambment in the first stanza is really well done. And your humanity shines through the sadness of old age while your words touch on the hard facts of life. I really enjoyed this even though I found the ending very dark and deep. Well done Ruby xx

Lavender

5 months ago

Angles

Hello, Ray,
Straightforward, yet the sentiment is very tender. Sincere reflection on the human spirit, both body and soul.
Thank you,
L

Ray Miller

5 months ago

Angles

Thank you both very much. I did enquire of the "management" why this poem doesn't appear in the Stream, but haven't received a reply.