I watch you push your walker
down the driveway
to your mailbox.

Your purple hat swivels
as your eyes strain
to see if I'm home.

I stand by the window
anticipating your knock
as you make your way
to my front door.

I wonder what
it could be today.
Another ride to the doctors
or the hair salon?

Maybe just to cry again
on my doorstep
because you haven't slept a wink
and you need groceries
but your family
is too busy to take you?

I wonder why they won't help
their ninety-one year old mother
and what you did,
if anything,
to deserve such treatment.

As you sit at my kitchen table
I jot down your grocery list
Then help you into my car

05/05/2008