My Dad brought him into the house,
he walked slowly, hesitant,
one foot in front of the other.
Silently he sat
staring.
My brothers and I stared back at him,
like he was a new and interesting
animal brought home for
our amusement.
As kids we did the usual stuff,
jump on one foot, make faces,
do the booga-booga dance.
Still nothing.
My Mom walked him to the bathroom
then back to the couch.
He needed to be fed his three squares.
The house had a darkness
the air was heavy.
As we became accustomed to him
we would stop and stare at him
to see if anything had changed.
It hadn't.
My brothers and I were told
he was catatonic,
so then we started to whisper.