Rosie the bird gives
a shrill whistled dare
as I creak up the steps.
The old sit littered
in every hallway, every landing,
they sit and stare, even
my grandfather’s eyes
betray him.
I’ve had enough of the bird
who calls my bluff,
his bloodshot blue eyes
try only so hard —
realize they’re tired and
admit: “I’m just
another body in the hall.”
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