they are old birds
in a circle, without
wings, nodding off
to
the Jeffersons
on tv.
the big couch and chairs
holding them
like soft hands.
the dinner bell has
not rung,
lunch just over
though they don't remember
what was eaten.
there is no talking.
no movement.
the eyes
flutter towards
the screen or to the door
when the doorbell
rings.
there is little difference
between night
and day.
Christmas could be tomorrow,
or it could have
been yesterday.
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