Poem for Allan

You keep running away.
Nurse: At least take your walker.

The one who scooped you off the floor like a doll,
over and over. You want to send roses.

House sold, sits there empty
as if waiting.

Your workshop, fifty-three screwdrivers.
Not a screw you couldn’t undo.

What do you do all day – dream
the dead are alive? this is all a mistake?

Remove hinges, lift down the door, easy now
keys in hand, car at the curb –

You know exactly what to do.

– Barbara Wild

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