There was always time

There was always time

For reflection

He had plenty of it,

Nobody to see

No expectations

He liked the peace

But missed the company.

For a while

He thought the cleaner was his girlfriend

Until she asked for a raise

It reminded him of his mother

Spending all of the housekeeping

On gin.

His father smelling of piss

After an all-nighter

He worried he smelled of it.

People don’t worry about

Piss and shit on pediatric wards

But blanche at an old guy

With his pants full.

Everybody is a critic.

He held his sphincter

Tightly closed

Too afraid of the fallout

To fart in public

On the off-chance of a follow-through.

They don’t tell you about that

In remedial classes

At the rehab centre.

He thanked god

For being gifted at something

Even if it was

For living on his own

Without need of assistance.

He took his blood pressure

Seriously

Monitored it regularly

Never adding salt

To his ready meals

They were laden enough.

He worried about a CVA

The loss of function

The loss of dignity,

If he had to go without

Until it was given.

He dreaded losing

The ability to open a bottle

The satisfying taste

Of a good single malt.

He always wanted to go standing up

But feared still being there

When he fell down.

Once in a while, he could write

Something good

But too often, he had read it before,

Somewhere,

Perhaps it was his

Maybe not.

Time was its own master

It had skills

In slowing down

Speeding up

The kind of skills that he wished

He still had.