Senior Center
by richard luftig



We return day after day like migratory doves
to newspapers, books, the blue light of CNN
with the mute on. No, the local news is more important;
A friend’s scheduled surgery, another remarrying
at age 83 to a babe ten years younger than himself.

Coffee and donuts, twenty-five cents each
from the bakery uptown, sprinkled with jokes
we’ve told dozens of times before.

Lunch; turkey a-la-king, Friday fish
for Catholics who swear they’ve never heard
of Vatican II. And the seating: always unreserved
which we’ve nevertheless been reserving for years.

Then the tables cleared for our games of canasta
that have gone on longer than forever: four-handed
if you don’t count the folks commenting on each trick,
none of us ever trying for trump but rather
content to simply lay down our hearts.






Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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