Watching You Talk

by steadfast twilight

I would rather gently pull my eyes out of their bony caves
As you sit me down to talk about "years back."
You wait for your turn to speak,
inching forward and taking a breath before sentences exit your mouth.
Wrinkles stretch at the corners of your eyes when you smile
And the cracks in your leathery hands from 40 years of work are white
while you wave your left arm to emphasize some word.
I start looking from your glassy blue eyes to another point of interest
in this kitchen that's straight out of a magazine which you've so willingly
composed with you wife.
Good thing I know how to tune you out.
Anything to distract me from realizing that my father is old.