Three Perspectives

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.