Retirement Community


The bridge over waning years is creased with toil
where poise and bravado spill over in laughter.
Wheelchair traffic animates carpeted lanes
like bumper cars, all signals on go. Standards for
diner p’s and q’s were set in eras past, and the
genesis of conversation billows with filial pride:
     My daughter is coming tomorrow.
     My son, the director, is shooting in Spain.
Warble of birthday songs precedes an autumnal probe:
     Tell me, courtly John, and tell me
     Miss Mary of untamed opinions:
     How often do you think of death?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Maximum of 400 words or 2000 characters.

Comments on may be used in the Forum of the print magazine and may be edited for length and clarity.