A mother-in-law, aging, not infirm,
Chooses to plod forward, eyes in a vise
Like a horse in dark blinkers,
Drowsing through the step ahead, a narrow vision
Dinner served, a reclining chair, a bed.
Not tired, but sleeping.
The son, hair graying, muscles aching,
Buzzes about, eyes wildly darting,
Like a fly, in jagged, zigzagging pursuit,
Seeing all and nothing, unfocused illusions,
The past, the present, the future, a blur.
Exhausted from working, earning escape.
The wife, worn with the burden,
Observing the day, eyes on each moment,
Like a scientist in a lab, squinting into a lens,
Assessing particles from all sides, inside too,
Mica in the dust, the dogs’ shiny hair, her heart’s constraints.
Chafing for change, for their lives back,
That sweet blended duet; not a trio.