A Life Story

Awkward chubby fingers
smelling like baby powder,
the road runner in the background.

I struggle -
trying to fit the shapes
into their correct compartments;
Like a mouth
but it won't swallow it's food.
Huffing,
rolling that fake plastic world
away from me.

Now stiff, frail fingers
smelling like musk perfume,
the war in the background.

I struggle -
the pills are hard to see;
they are mice
cowering in their corners.
I lick and stab,
maneuvering them
out of their compartments.
I curse so I can hear
my own voice;
wondering if my son
will call me today.