Mr. Crosby was my neighbor and, recently, had celebrated his 90th birthday. I'd known him, on and off, for around a decade and we'd become friends over the years. When he was up for it, I'd pay him a visit and we might grab a coffee or lunch, together. Perhaps, we'd watch a little television or I could listen to his stories (never quite sure, with the deterioration of his mind, of their veracity). After a recent stroke, he began to come undone more rapidly, cursing like the sailor he once was, more and more frequently, as his life became an unmanageable knot of frustrations.
My solitary neighbor had never married and, other than a few kind souls from his shipping days who checked in on him, from time to time, there was no one in his life. Gradually, his increasing physical ailments became the only company he kept, regularly. As the loneliness and dementia closed in on him, he'd sob, in horror and self-pity, and repeat that he was dying. More than once, he asked me if I'd join him on a ship and head back home. That would be Boston, where he had serviced the boats of the Kennedy family as a younger man (a story I did believe, on account of the details that he provided). I had to decline, but believed I might not see him, again, when I took my last trip out of town, at the end of last year.
Just over a month ago, my wife and I visited him in a nursing home, where he'd been forcibly moved to, in our absence. He seemed bewildered and winded, both embarrassed and grateful for our visit. Yesterday, on our way to pay him another visit at his new home, we learned he had passed away that day. Today's poem is for him.
What will I do on land? he'd asked,
pitifully, when they laid him off from work
He was in his late eighties, at the time
friendless and without family, marooned
A sea-man all his long, lonely life,
he was forced to relinquish all he knew
eventually, the pictures on his wall came down
of mighty waves crashing against a lighthouse
As his light dimmed, he gave up small joys:
the classic music he enjoyed, the daily news
His mind slipping away, he clutched tightly
the tv remote control, mistaking it for a phone
Out to grab lunch, alone, lurching in the streets
he looked like a storm-tossed ship, on a moonless night
and we all watched, helpless, and often in fright
I visited him, at times, with fruit smoothies he enjoyed.
When Iast I traveled, I thought he said goodbye
his eyes fixing mine, in panic, sorrow and fear
upon my return, I found him in an old home
deteriorated and leave-taking even more
Yesterday, on the way to visit, I learned he passed
didn't survive a medical procedure he undertook
Farewell, Bob Crosby, dear neighbor, friend, sailor
I wish you smooth sailing and that you find safe harbor...
© Yahia Lababidi
(Images: mine)
This is my entry for Day 6 of @d-pend's 100 Day Poetry Challenge. To learn more, please, visit Steemit School on discord