Monday, April 4, 2016

Reservations





















I can’t walk the beach in my front yard,
Or pick fruit from my trees,
It seems I’m not allowed deep breaths,
In the abundant, cool sea breeze.

I walked the dog until he died,
Then I could walk no more…
Now from my window, I observe,
Strangers walking on my shore.

I want to scream, “Get out of here”!
Yet I’m mute with hesitation…
I am old now and invisible;
Life’s cancelled my reservation.

The weeds have covered walkways,
Where surprise guests would appear…
Now I wonder in my silent room,
Does anyone know I’m here?

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