I don’t think Dad was senile
while he chased women at the nursing home.
Women: Nurses, Patients, Visitors, Mirages.
I think he just enjoyed the chase, until, finally,
the nice night nurse Nancy put on her Nikes
and ran Dad around in circles
until plain exhaustion led him to his bed where,
after a little rest and judicious jerking-off
under the sheets until he was 94,
when, in the midst of a joyous joust
with his fading masculine,
he died,
as all of us die,
his heart, heaped heavy with hope,
stopped beating….off.
His death certificate pontificated: “Fatal Heart Attack”,
truthfully proclaiming that Dad was just an ordinary
seaman who, finally,
came,
ashore.