I told her I stole the
glasses from my mother
who she commended to
have great taste
and then she said no
one in her family lived to be 90.
It
could be worse
I told her,
she was blessed
to see the lake from
her window,
to live on 72nd street
since the age of 17.
I wanted to ask what
led her feet here,
if the woman sitting
next to her,
entreated by a phone,
the same one
who complained this 90
year-old nagged
in abundance was her
daughter-in-law.
Instead she asked what do you do
for a
living?
I told her I was a
poet.
The
lake doesn’t make me any younger,
your
balance sways when you get older.
I agreed. She asked if
I would return
the glasses. I told
her I would.
You're
a good child she said,
pulling her cart full
of tangerines away.
