pink booties

she tells me
on the phone
that jimmy gets
on her last nerve.
that if it wasn't
for his retirement
and pension, his
social security
and ability to
keep the car
running and the
house painted, she'd
leave him just
like that. fifty
years means nothing
to her, she tells
me while sipping
on a fresca and spitting
out the shells
of sunflower seeds.
i can hear her rocker
squeaking on the
dry sun baked boards,
while she knits pink
booties for no one.