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?