Mr. Armstrong
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: April 6, 2003

A tribute
to Mr. Armstrong
who overstayed his welcome
was put in a home to age
but came down everyday
to smell the plastic tulips
and further dehydrate
the inheritance

if you met him
under living circumstances
you probably
would have ignored him willingly
but as he is dead
I will try and give him
the nobility
we all deserve

sometimes
he was Mr. Armstrong:
sly gentlemen of the fifties
late evenings of booze and jazz
strolling the arms of beautiful
young victims to his charm
or Mr. Armstrong:
brilliant, hardworking architect
building hopes and dreams
for his wife, children
and coming home
to walk the dog
but most of the time
he was Mr. Armstrong:
eighty-three years stolen
by the Alzheimer’s that infected
his mind

he strolled down
the dull orange hallways
of the retirement centre
amongst the other tragedies
(who were fading at various speeds)
with his wife, dog and navy blue top hat
never once losing the hat
although the dog
ran away twice
and he misplaced her
many times

everyone shook their heads
said a prayer
and quietly walked around
the man whose past
would constantly erupt
our of order
who would begin the conversation
in 1958 and end up stuck
somewhere in the seventies

It was fine
when he was
a cranky twelve-year-old
It was fine
the twenty-sixth time
I told him my name
It was fine
as long as he stayed inside
the ignorance

But sometimes
ever so briefly
he remembered
that he was Mr. Armstrong
the decrepit old man
who wasn’t dying fast enough
and worse
sometimes he remembered
that he would forget

but don’t feel bad
he’s dead now
although his dog is alive
still running away
as is his wife
so there’s still someone
to feel sorry for
more importantly
there’s still someone
to ignore