A man after the war

He lived to attend his oldest grandson's wedding
each day more deliberate than the last
gripping his cane like a subway rail
He walked slowly and meticulously
Avoiding sidewalk cracks
And respiratory failure
He slipped silently into the dark of a river
Succumbing to the natural ebb and flow
The tides of life and where they take you
As if to say, “Let the wind take me, I don’t know where I’ll go”
I watched as he read the paper,
Fearing the mess he will not be able to protect
To shield, from fires, and floods and decay
His only voice, the systematic pumping of his heart
The gravel grinding in the dry cobwebbed corridor of his neck
His body had shrank to that of an infant
I could carry him in my arms
He gripped his sheets like he gripped his gun
And these are the things that happen
To old men, when they go to war