I sit in my room and watch the paint dry,
although it’s not wet. I wish it was
as that would be something to do
other than just sitting.

In the summer they wheel me outside
and I sit
smothered in sun tan lotion
in my straw hat and watch the grass grow.

My life has become slow,
each day sliding silently into the next
while I wait
for my last breath,
for the sun to go down
on this quiet solitude
where I am surrounded by kindness
and dying of boredom.

I used to be so busy
but now I must be content
with the grass and the paint.
As if old people did not need something to do
in their last years,
someone to talk to as their world shrinks
down to a room,
to a bed
and finally to a box
where there is nothing to do
but sleep.

– Glenis Moore