thought about putting my father
into a home.
a nursing home
of some sort.
at 96 he seemed ready.
crumbling
like a cookie in milk.
he agreed to visit, but only
because he wanted
to see what
the nurses looked like.
not a skinny blonde
in the bunch,
so he said no, and stayed
at home,
with his walker, and his
meals on wheels,
his tv and phone,
and occasional visits
from Mitzi
who brough him cake
and baby oil.
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