I thought it was a kindness, every day
to call a friend who’s ailing and alone.
I often had to search for things to say –
my plate’s still full and so to fill the phone
with items I’d share details – chat away
the minutes with minutia. Then she’d groan
it’s TMI or boring, flung or spat.
I think it’s time to take a break from that.

(Ottava Rima)

This entry was posted in Aging, Language, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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