Glass Man

Robert Starkey



Glass Man


An elderly man once full of beguile

Lie in bed round doctors with psychosis

Too tired to act hostile nether while

I fathomed stories rather prognosis

As he looked at me with a senile smile

He said, “Never shame your diagnosis”

I could smell bitter sweet in something ill

How this gentleman spaced in worlds so still


He’d tell me of third generation meds

Tales of how hospital staff would treat him

Cried of strapping his arms and legs to beds

The truth that he himself knew he was grim

Complains that doctors would mess with their heads

All and all to family sounded whim

Stories of long ago, clinics deranged

I wonder what of this century’s changed


I know what some social folks won’t accept

Although he may not, he looks as if so

If not for the many years of inept

Folks would want to know what he’ll always know

Some claim to care and even intercept

Maybe I’m the proof that needs not to show

As I opened my eyes and time unfurled

I came to fear the beauty in the world


Pristine or profane resides in the glass?

I do not recall a sip nor a pour

Seems pointless to calculate dense or mass

It’s just something nothing less nothing more

One day, some day this man will some time pass

I’ll tell him he became the glass before…

An elderly man with stories to tell

And a story for him beneath his shell