I watched an Old Man Walk Today

I watched an old man walk today
Upon a beach near Delaware Bay.
And as he went, he put feet down
As though he wore the shoes a clown
Would put upon his feet, quite large
Like some Bay boat, just say a barge.
Lifting one and then the other,
He slapped his feet like my grandmother.
Ataxia gives a slapping gait,
As if he hauled the world’s great weight.
The walk reveals some inner flaw.
Was he distracted by Fatah?
Proprioceptive he is not
As demonstrated by his thought,
“Where am I now?” he seems to ask.
Directing him is quite a task.
He shakes the hands of those not there,
And cannot manage an airplane’s stair.
But my concern’s not slap-foot walking;
I worry more when he is talking.


The cerebellum plays a part
In walking upright from the start.
A toddler toddles to teach his brain,
How to ascend into a plane.
But in old age, that task grows hard
Even for an old lifeguard.


The Press won’t note that something’s wrong
And each report will play along
As though the man is quite astute
Will no one say? Are they quite mute?
Are young reporters so enamored
They cannot hear as he has stammered?
Can no one see his wayward path
As ‘round the world a great bloodbath
Has taken many lives for real
With many wounds that cannot heal?


His footsteps wander on the beach
The evidence that won’t impeach,
For many people do the same
Ataxia might be to blame.
But what of policies that are so lame
That while he goes this way or that
Without insight, some bureaucrat
Is telling him which way to walk,
Or where to stand and how to talk?
What if the man is not in charge
And someone else our plights enlarge?
The border, drugs, the threats abroad,
All while he stoops, “Pelecypod!
“Just Look, my wife, what I have found
“Just lying on this sandy ground.
“I never saw one here before,
“How did it come to wash ashore?”


“But Joey, Dear, look in our house;
“You pick one up and each time grouse,
“‘Why do we have this stuff assembled?’
“‘There is not room for other stuff,
“‘Like documents,’ you say and huff.”


And then he turns and walks away
Befuddled now, filled with dismay,
A wandering path along the beach
Ataxia walking, halting speech.
“Joe,’ she says, “Our home’s this way;
“We’ll come again another day.
“And you can shuffle on the sand,
“To find a shell within the strand.”


“So, are there more?” he now inquires.
She says, “Yes, Dear.” She never tires
Of leading him lest he fall down
His bare feet slapping like a clown.