“His once strong and loyal hands were the first to go. He would hold them in his lap, curled up like balls of socks, trying to bring them to life. After a close shave at work he didn’t feel the top of his thump come free, holding on by a thread. The blood alerted him to the pain he should have felt. Worse, while watching the nurse pierce his leather jacket skin, he didn’t feel a thing. With each twist and turn of the needle his body only shuddered at the thought of not feeling what he was entitled to. Of not feeling warm sand between his fingers. Of not feeling the bitter frost on his car door handle. Of not holding his fishing rod with a forefinger on the line as if it was a vein holding a pulse. He would feel again, he would feel the numbness of knowing what was lost.
He seems to be ageing.”
See you around Pop…05/09
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