Buttoning the buttons
On his shirtsleeves
Because his hands are too arthritic now
To button it himself.
Later we play music in his living room.
He's lost his ear for tuning so
Everything is slightly out.
Driving home later,
Never knowing when this will be
The last time I make the drive.
We don't know where we'll end up.
And all I'm left with is
The memory of
Threading the button through the hole
At the end of his sleeve.