Street party

The Bunting flutters in the breeze against my little window to the world.

I forget the last time I went out.
I can’t
but I get meals delivered
and a nurse comes morning and night.
And on the whole
I don’t open the door
because, well, you hear such stories.

You know.

A girl with sparkly wings waves
a small act
then they come.

With a plate.

Smiles and
a paper crown.

A bustling man moves my chair to the door,

their tables nearer
and we sing
they let me join in.

I’ll remember that day forever.


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