by Rosa Alcalá
When we say you mellowed
we mean you forgot
the old grievances
like a frying pan
on the stove.
Your whip went lax
like skin, like hope
of going home. You ask and ask
what's for lunch
and when.
And what's more
insulting to all the overtime
you did
than a cut-up hot dog
and decaf
in a plastic cup?
Is this how we end up?
Those of us who
come here? By here you meant
America,
not the nursing
home.
The pay down scheme started
the moment you got
off the boat, I want to scream.
Is that too
angry, too
glib? Instead of fry
I tend to steam.
A TV commercial
promises
a new body. That's
impossible,
you laughed. Now
where arce my glasses, my teeth?
The nurses here
steal
everything.
Copyright ©:
Rosa Alcalá
Last updated March 27, 2023