Once more I’m sleeping in a different house,
Helen’s this time, two old birds
in a nest she owns, paid in full
as of yesterday. I’ve never owned anything,
she said last night. You own yourself,
I told her. She’s solid for someone
going in for a new hip on Monday after
a week of appointments with eye, skin, & gut
doctors. She hates them all. We agree,
they’re casting in the dark, merchandising
pyrite. They know too much
& too little while we know we live
until we die. Helen survived a brain tumor.
A hip should be a walk in the park.
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