The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Ruth Z. Deming


The men who love me,
Codgers mostly, call my name
As I walk by.
Their voices rising in jubilation
as I pass by.
I'm young enough still and
I've got good legs. My fresh mowed
Grass shows I work hard like they do.

There is Bill's house, alive with light and movement,
Though he's not there. We remember poor Bill,
Cocoon'd in a nursing home
No use to anyone after five-hour surgery to
Scoop out a tumor from his brain,
Big as a grapefruit they say,
Can that be true, Bill?

His house resounds with life,
A ceiling fan atwhirl as Bill's grown boy
throws off his
shirt & comes barechested to the window,
While Bill's car, like a faithful Schnauser,
Stands sentry in the drive
awaiting word.

Copyright 2006-7 by Cook Communication