Alice Wirth Gray
Her lovely face captured the one
available male in the old folks’ home.
She’s found, at long last, Mr. Right,
absolutely faithful, endlessly attentive,
forgiving of all idiocy. Imagine if he
had been your grandfather.
The nicest man you’d hope to meet,
agrees our daughter;
he has such sweet manners.
On their walkers, constantly together
they stagger the rest-home halls,
play out their French farce
on adjoining balconies.
He calls her by his dead wife’s name;
and she, awakened from her frequent naps,
starts up in his bed and names him: Who?
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