A shell of a man, not as pretty as the phrase.
Rather than a pearlescent, rosy nautilus,
instead a bombed-out brain. Bleary eyesight like
the mollusk, blue eyes track movement uneasily.

Murmured caring tones mere noise to
his ears. Few words emitted through chapped lips,
mostly “No.” My father’s clock has lost its
winding mechanism, with a reset to basic wants.

One hand hard clamped on bed railing, the other
limply rests. No muscle strength for a signature,
let alone the mental will. This present catastrophe
never envisaged by the former businessman.

Yellow-taloned feet, lizard-like appendages, a dry
desert of skin, needing lotion. Angry arms wave,
drowns in his bed, hisses. “Leave me alone.”
Parent without memory of caring for the child.

Loving touch, vision, words, all fail miserably.
Little of my father remains within his carapace.                
I read the Wordsworth title, “I wandered lonely
as a cloud.” This gaunt man mutters “Daffodils.”
                        

Tea-time arrival. I hadn’t expected to see them again,
especially not en masse.
What to say? I’m glad you made it back from the grave?
How did you move the dirt?
Or, just ignore the situation, since that is typical 
of this family. Yes, the best plan.
 
Aunt Carol argues with Uncle Bill, pays no heed
to death parting them.
Cousin Kay tips tea cup high, ignores Darjeeling
dripping down her ribs.
Do they not realize the strange anomaly of visiting
me, when I am alive?
 
I pass the cupcakes, consider one, but wait, 
I am so thin.
Trousers sag off my hips, phalanges root me
to the floor.
Oh no, I have joined my dead relatives, rather
than them haunting me.