Saying Good-Bye to my Dad, Part 3

And the girl wrote a poem:

I'm not embarrassed of you
anymore -
of drool that falls from unused lips
to pools in your lap
velcro shoes protruding
from wheelchair's foot rest
atrophied muscles and
damaged brain

you are still made
in the image of God
so remember this
when they change your diapers
give you sponge baths
comb your hair the wrong way
see the waitress stare as you
drink coffee through a straw
eat waffles with hands, for

in your dreams
they buy season tickets
wear their finest clothes
to hear your French horn,
watch hands uncurl
finger brass valves effortlessly
interpret every nuance
of the conductor's baton
as though you've never been gone

and when you wake
the applause still thunders
until the nurse comes in to dress you
change you feed you
but we will
have breakfast again
because I'm not
embarrassed of you
Dad