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"The Last Bus Home"




Each day at two, I read to her, she lies
there with her thinning hair in wisps around
her wrinkled face. Old age has trapped her in
this place; she cries at night and thinks no one
can hear. A picture taken long ago is on her stand
and I wonder if it's kind of them
to remind her of lifes failure to keep her young
I see her gaze at it, then look away. 

At three I bring her tea and Lorna Doones,
She drinks, then pats my hand and says "I love 
you nurse, now get my coat and purse for I 
must go --the last bus home is leaving soon
and there's no time to stay here in this room!"

Judith Anne Labriola

Revised June 9, 2007
copyright January 1999


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