A Matter of Convenience
A grove of magnolias perfumes the air
as they sit absorbed in one another's gaze,
she with her crochet and he with his collectibles
uneasy in their pleasure in the evening of their years.
Lawyers control their affairs like vultures slavering
their prey, waiting to swoop when the timing is right,
for what use is their wealth to them now? No kids,
no convenient callers making spurious claims,
the power of attorney running everything,
in their own best interests, of course.
Summer Haven was the name of their new residence,
with their final resting place conveniently pre-selected.
But they still could make suggestions, could they not?
not really incompetent, simply eccentric and odd;
eating their meals out of red plastic bowls
and taking their medicines eight times a day,
convenient, and all for their own good no doubt,
but day after day of this treatment can deflate the soul.
One blissful moonlit night they'd had enough.
They packaged their drugs into secure containers
and shredded their records so as to break free.
They stole cartons of candy and five jugs of Ensure
and headed straight out the unguarded back door,
jump-started the motor-bike out by the tool shed
and roared off on a quest for their own
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2006