holidays hard days cold winds frost the windows and chill even the youngest bones there’ll be no manger wise men or gifts but the lights wink at the children through the iced portals of this home of theirs parked on broad street
each morning the trolley could be heard outside his door a door always unlocked so aides could deliver his meds without him having to transfer from sofa to wheelchair once prescribed tablets were taken he’d shuffle his wheelchair to the bathroom legs pulling more than the arms weakened from his fall the sidewalk fall that brought him to this place for his own good a three room efficiency apartment like place where his medical needs could be monitored his computer a writer’s umbilical cord to the outside world was damaged in transit and was more temperamental than the musicians he once wrote about the computer finally seemed to suffer from depression not wanting to work at all as if this aged environment had brought about a complete digital climate change before long even the writer sympathetically joined the computer’s mood a free thinker who now accepted opinions expressed by others as to his identity and so soon he had none but for awhile life went on