Mikhael Bazankov in conversation.
The Nineteenth Poem August 7, 2022
They came in all shapes
and sizes. Only one seemed
happy to be here. And she
started a garden. She liked
taking Sophie out. Another
one took over sorting my
books: ones I’d keep and
ones I’d give away. A
Young one liked to clean.
Our household is rahter
informal, but we look better
than we once did. I became
eligi le for help from Medicaid
and they sent me a woman
who talked on her phone
no magger what else she was
doing. She went through the
motions but unenthusiastically.
I asked for someone else.
The next one worked quietly
and hard. She would do what
i asked, but she never smiled.
Finally she said she wouldn’t
be back. She had another job.
A new person would come
on Monday. What would
she be like? Heaven knows?
No comments:
Post a Comment