At Least for Today

At Least for Today
She wants a different chair -
Only blind in one eye,
Toting an oxygen tank -
Doesn’t like cold weather,
But she does like being close to family.

She wants a different chair
Other than the one she slumps in
That resides within her studio apartment
Where the kitchenette is hardly used.
And there is no room for entertaining.

She wants a different chair
Other than the electric scooter
That takes up too much space -
That she rides down halls to dinner,
And won’t take out of the building.

She wants a different chair
On the weekends, her weekdays
Are already long enough -
Since she barely moves anymore because
She chooses to limit her participation...

She wants a different chair
Not the one near the community puzzle
Not the one in the craft room -
Not the one in the exercise room -
Since they moved it off of her floor.

She wants a different chair
But still in a familiar surrounding,  in her daughters’ home
Home where she’ll sit until dinner or sometimes her sons’
home, but the seven steps up,  make her winded.
Or a non-booth of a restaurant will do, too.

She wants a different chair
So we attempt to accommodate her,
When she calls twice in the same day
To confirm the same weekend routines...
Because she wants a different chair.
© JP/davh