Grandpa

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Alzheimer’s disease infected grandpa’s brain, scooping out chunks of his memory. His usual plaid golf cap, lopsided on his rectangular cranium, conceals his balding head. His almond eyes rest in the hat’s shadow, surrounded by deep wrinkles, droopy lids, and purple bags. They are glossy with evitable oblivion. A bulbous schnoz supports black frames that span his aged face. Thick lenses magnify his benevolent gaze. Bushy white brows, sprinkled with silver highlights, sprout out of his forehead.
Round ears protrude into the air to capture sounds and words his mind will not retain. Reaching these futile ears is a wide smile etched on his face. Crevices eroded by time contour the outline of his thin-lipped grin. Yellow teeth disintegrate as grandpa forgets to brush them. His stale breath lingers with the aroma of old coffee.
His square jaw covered in loose, bruised skin lies beneath his lips. A crisp bowtie encloses his sagging neck. Opaque pearl buttons fastened all the way up, disappearing into his tie. A few are missing here and there as his fingers tremble, struggling to entwine them with his coffee-stained shirt. Beige slacks are pulled up to his belly button. His frail arms, masked with liver spots and bruises, rest limply on his lap. He occasionally dozes off, sitting comfortably in a slouchy armchair, with a slipping memory, but life-long vigor still intact.





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