Tuesday, February 26, 2008


At almost 81,
frail but strong,
she is a pit bull
defending her turf.

Trying to keep the
nursing home monster at bay,
my sister and I
take them both
to their doctor
because one cannot be left alone,
and neither she nor I can handle
this job by ourselves.

Like puppies without leashes
they wander around
the office
and must be corralled.

We all try to reason
with the woman
who now sees
once-familiar furniture
as placed there as part of a surreptitious conspiracy by
dangerous and unauthorized strangers.

The three of us play
tug of war
with the doctor
and the voices.

We all go
out to lunch.


Poems © Gemma W. Wilson