i'm still here

your friend mary
who retired from
the rail road 40 years
ago turns ninety-five
this year.
she has had nearly
every disease known
to man, but has somehow
survived.
they have found
her passed
out on the floors
of her kitchen
and bathroom
dozens of times,
pushing the doors
open to revive her.
she drives a white
Cadillac and leaves
an I'm sorry note on
the windshields
of cars that she smashes
into in the parking lot.
never a phone number
or name. she adds in.
I'm old.
her wall to wall carpet
is baby blue,
her couch is baby
blue, the curtains
are one shade darker
and there are dried flowers
everywhere.
there is always a
sara leigh
banana cream pie
in the refrigerator
next to a carton
of skim milk.
she's been living in
the same apartment
since 1963.
the year kennedy was
shot, she says, as if
somehow both events
are forever tied together.
nearly all
her friends have died.
and she laughs
not about them, but
about that she's still
here. I'm still
here she says defiantly,
so tell me about you.
seeing anyone?