Frailty

You float through my open office door,
and I can't help but notice
how you've thinned,
how your every word and gesture
seem rolled up in a moment
that settles like a feather
upon my spare desk chair.

Then you daze me
with two short syllables
buried in the blur.

Gone is the chin-up,
problem-solving engineer
who cracks jokes in the face
of insurmountable problems.

Now, you sit with one knee
clasped between two joined palms,
your face gaunt,
your darting eyes evasive.

Now, each tensing of your hands
feels charged with fear,
each word sounds hurried
as you struggle to disarm yourself
with me as audience.

Scott Speck
07/15/2002