Nursing Home

I remember visiting my grandmother
in a nursing home of old people

as a child my own skin
was soft
fitting just right on my bones

so it seemed to me
that those people
had shrunk inside their skin
like a favorite sweater
stretched so far
that it stuck that way

Grandma called me "Leslie"
and not knowing
I reminded her my name was "Sue"

she scared me
so I inched backwards
into the hallway

where other people
whose skin was stretched
beyond reshaping

sat in the hallway moaning
or drooling or sleeping
their heads too heavy for their necks

their lives too heavy for their weary bodies

Solitaire

books
the smell of newly printed
words
slick shiny magazines
bestsellers, how-to
steamy romances
and grisly murders

fresh-brewed coffee
the sound of grinding
and whooshing
lattes and mochas and carmel machiattos
and caloric pastries

in the middle of important-looking businessmen
packing Blackberries
and Iphones

amid studious coeds
with backpacks and laptops
checking Facebook
with Shakespeare waiting
nearby

she pulls out
her large-print playing cards
arranges them at the
starting position

crumbs of unknown origin
littering her catch-all breasts
she chews something
placing another card
the key to her identity
on a lanyard turned over
on her littered chest

she fumbles with
an oversized pocketwatch
that bears the Eagle crest
checks the time
as if waiting for a meeting

she snaps the eagle's mouth shut
suddenly
shuffles her feet
bound by orthopedic slippers
checks the brake
on her chair on wheels

still chewing
always chewing

she looks across the laptops
silk ties
Blackberries
Itouches
shiny shoes
texts of love and despair
life
and suicide by poison
or dagger

she flips another card
no moves left

the coffee grinds
cappuccinos foam
biscotties dissolve

she shuffles the cards
anomaly in the atmosphere
oblivious
starts another game
of Solitaire.