These days

he disappears into his brown leather chair
shrinking   lips wet with hope   a tongue
that still wants to press itself inside of me

a soldier who went up   came down
a red beret   rifle at his side
he wonders if he forgot to close the garage door

on the mantle he smiles into the Mediterranean sun
his arms reach out as if to offer a favor
last night he walked in circles   meditating   he claimed

framed in brown khakis   his shirt tucked in   clean shaven
he holds a curly-haired girl atop a Yamaha twin scrambler   1967
driving now    he murmurs a prayer only he understands

downstairs schnitzel fries
a thick smell of grease threads through the air
coating the walls with a filmy glaze

we laugh about the sign on the corner complex
Senior resort living   we wouldn’t have to travel far
I turn away   a man one car over smiles

Linda Laderman lives in Commerce Township Michigan, where she writes for a living and to stay alive. Her poetry and prose has appeared in media outlets and literary journals