My Father, Naked

Before bathing, he undressed on his bed,
painstakingly, each shirt button
a worry bead in his left palm,
then hoisted himself up
with his cane. After the strokes, convenience
became his most valued currency,
trumped dignity. He looked embarrassed
only the first time I caught him
on his bathroom walk,
his useless right hand hardly blocking
his drooping penis. From then on,
always the shrug, always the look that said,
What on earth else should I do?