The angry drubbing from the cold January Sun
Has beaten all the trees’ leaves to the ground;
The peal by a distant neighborhood campanile
Offers but pastel respite from this new winter day.
After hours and an ankle breeze brushes cold
Times bear hard and thoughts scare appalling—
Late on a school night and we risk a third glass bold;
Excuse me, dear, but why is it hospice keeps calling?
Home—a far place unreachable, unknowable, except as
Errant memories allow.
Three score save one with 22 gray days to go,
Yet cannot believe one keeps falling.
Walked this way thousands of times but now…don’t…know,
But why does hospice keep calling?
Tomorrow comes to call as if knowing