Father and Son

When I put in his dentures, his facecomes awake. he motions me closer."I can't walk", he whispers.My father is 93.I whisper back, I still take xanax.Later, I said to myself, I feel weak,Like a coward on his kneesBegging life not to hurt him.I forget the simplest lessons.I forget paying attention.We're both old enough for death and have it not be a surprisebut what do we know?