NOTHING ELSE TO LOVE
By Pamela Painter

This room is supposed to assist me in living but it is a sorry sight. Lumpy bed. Lumpy chair. Potty chair. Bed. TV. Hate TV. Dresser with two drawers too hard to open. Nothing in them anyway. Bed. Did I say bed? Bed. A squeaky walker as chatty as the staff. Staff deliver trays of grey food. Then they wheel me into the room full of chair-sitters. I wheel myself out. I stay in my room in my chair near my lumpy. Lumpy? My lumpy bed.

I was dumped here by a person I almost recognize. It was last week. Maybe last month. The man’s pursed mouth reminded me of someone I knew as a child. He pursed and muttered. He dumped out stuff from a box. I said take it away. He dumped stuff back into the box. All the time muttering. I couldn’t hear him.