At the crack of dawn the rusted screen door hinges squealed;
he placed his hands on the push handles,
and shifted his weight forward.

Front wheels, up!

The bare rear-wheel rims scarred the mahogany threshold,
and the seat cushion squeaked a little louder
under her almost-dead weight.

Cusco! *******!

Like every other morning for the last thirteen years
the old retriever gave him a blank stare,
its glass eye bleedin’ blue.

Hold on, Edna.

They made a quick one-eighty ‘round the dog’s empty food bowl,
avoided one of the craters in the floorboards,
and came to a halt on the landing.

We’re almost there, dear.

Edna did her morning wheelie down the porch steps.
The liver spots on her hands seemed larger
in the early morning rays.

Here we go, Edna!

The wheels sank away and whispered over the lawn;
the birds stopped chirping as if they listened,
and the river birch waved good mornin’.

Almost there, now.

They passed the birch and pulled up under the apricot tree;
the blossoms’ shadows danced her to sleep,
and her oxygen tank hissed blue ******.

*There, there, darling.