Trapped
the third floor of the rest home
is for the living dead
old, shriveled,
spoon fed yellow mush
except my friend who still has color in her hair
and a son in college
although she says, no she has no son
and no, she shakes her head, no husband
I wheel her down the floor
to see the caged pet—
an African Grey parrot
who walks his bar back and forth
back and forth
I ask my friend what she wants
a Coke, ice cream, popcorn?
I want my mother
I want my father
why did I ask her
for what I cannot give
now she names her sisters—
Elizabeth, Mary Rose, Catherine
as an aide appears and scolds,
clear your throat, speak up
my friend tenses under her white robe
I feel her fear
or is it anger
I touch her arm
if only she knew nothing at all
as I leave I hate the trimmed bushes
the flowers in ordered beds
the domed door awnings
covering the unbearable
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