M.E. Days.

Some days you can dress yourself,
Pull on stockings, brush your hair
And apply lipstick to pale lips,
But some days you can’t and have
To be dressed by some stranger who
Comes in with her cold hands
And chilly heart and pulls on stockings,
Brushes hair, and applies lipstick to dry
Cracked lips; whispering in her broken
English as she prepares a breakfast
You’ll not eat, leaving without farewell.

Some days you can walk the park,
Feed the birds, chat to strangers
On the bench, sit at the café, drink
Coffee, watch men pass, gaze as
Children play, thank God for the day.

Some days you can’t walk at all,
Need to be helped from bed, need
Someone there to commode you,
To fetch and carry; to care enough
(As if) to wipe your nose or ass
Or give embrace or hear the words
That tumble from your lips like
Naughty kids, but none does,
Nor cares or so seems, at least not
In reality, maybe sometimes in dreams.