You keep saying that you will have your license soon

but your legs say otherwise

your feet swell into pooling things

the special socks barely help

you say this because

you’re sad

and

You feel like

a burden to us.

But it is more that we

your progeny, have done poorly at your tomb

Our tensions have turned us from sculptors and guards

into the ungrateful, the can’t be bothered.

I don’t mind driving you around

Even though at 9AM I may grit my teeth

and hope the AC is loud enough

you can’t hear my sniffling

But

You won’t ever need your license

When the time comes

I will carry you to meet God.