Visitor

I hear the men screaming at night;

they just can’t take

what’s happening to them.

(They were dumped, but I don’t want to say that.)

My son hasn’t seen me for three months,

he’s busy,

has a new wife

has a full life.

People forget that we need

friends,

and family,

and visitors.

(I was dumped, but I don’t want to say that.)

Look at the picture of my sweetheart and me,

read this valentine he gave me,

notice his obit tucked inside.

When will you return?

You should leave a card, maybe.

(We were dumped, but I don’t want to say that.)

Walk past the sleeping ladies

wheeled into the hall,

bundled beneath blankets,

Find me in the dark room on the right.

I’m always here.

See you next week,

visitor.