Mr. Arthur

I've been reading some of my friend's poetry lately, and it got my mind in a poetic mood. I do not have a natural poetic bent, but I enjoy the challenge. See my specialty is "short story, long" not "long story, short", so saying something of meaning with fewer words is an interesting and intriguing task. Here I go.

"Mr. Arthur"

He sat alone
shoulders hunched
on the long wooden pew
his usual spot on Sunday mornings
their usual spot

Only now,
alone

Before
she must've helped him
getting dressed
combing his hair
holding the hymnal
reading the bulletin
adjusting his hearing aid

Only now,
matching a tie with a shirt
perplexed him
combing his hair
was something he thought he handled well
but she had always been the one to check that cowlick
holding the hymnal with trembling hands
embarssed him
reading the bulletin, the thick glasses sliding down his small nose,
seemed impossible

And that hearing aid
she always managed to make it work
How did she fix it?
Anxiety and frustration didn't calm his shaking fingers
as they fiddled with the buzzing little beast
The pastor's words droned on
as it tumbled to the carpet from his quaking hands

Uncomfortably he stretttttttttched to reach it
catching a glance of an annoyed woman as he descended
her finger discreetly plugging one ear
the buzzing obviously an annoyance
her lips pursed and one eyebrow cocked
he felt his heart beating in his wrinkled throat
reeeeeeeeeeaching with all his might
finally!
it was in his clammy grasp

He whispered a loud apology
through whistling dentures
all the while
he felt the high buzzing
continued to announce his age
his incompetance
his alone-ness

Catching his breath and composure
he stood, stooping
trying not to draw more eyes
shuffling his way to the narthex

Before
she would've fixed it
so easily
so quickly

They would've enjoyed another service
together

But now things were so often
interrupted
off kilter
incomplete

Because now he was
alone