by Earl J. Wilcox
Today when I awoke it was very dark outside.
Today when I got up at 5:30 AM, it was cold.
Today I fumble putting in my hearing aids.
Today my glasses help little with macular degenration.
Today my bladder wants to empty before I arise.
Today I struggle to put on my pants, my shoes.
Today the cats wait patiently to be fed, petted.
Today I see dimly the coffee pot, the faucet.
Today I munch a protein bar, put on a mask.
Today I find my walking stick, unlock the door.
Today I stumble out the door, my knees resist walking.
Today it is still dark as I move toward the street light.
Today I shudder, cough and sneeze, wait for a ride.
Today I hear kids and cars and school buses pass by.
Today a friend stops for me. I hobble to his car.
Today I find his car is warm, his voice hopeful.
Today we ride to a community center across town.
Today I can barely hear or see the place we seek.
Today I wobble down the pavement, smile, anxious.
Today a friendly voice asks if I am “doin’ OK?”.
Today I walk inside a warm hall, hear low, calm chatter.
Today I wait and wait and wait and wait and wait.
Today I wonder if the line will open a slot for me.
Today I arise, my cane is calmer than I am.
Today I hand my photo ID to someone at a table.
Today I am helped to a small machine I barely see.
Today a friendly voice asks if I can see the screen.
Today I barely read, barely hear, barely stand.
Today I feel a rush of joy and peace.
Today my friend puts a small sticker on my sweater.
Today and tomorrow the sticker says I VOTED.
