Trapped the third floor of the rest home is for the living dead old, shriveled, spoon fed yellow mush except my friend who still has color in her hair and a son in college although she says, no she has no son and no, she shakes her head, no husband I wheel her down the floor to see the caged pet— an African Grey parrot who walks his bar back and forth back and forth I ask my friend what she wants a Coke, ice cream, popcorn? I want my mother I want my father why did I ask her for what I cannot give now she names her sisters— Elizabeth, Mary Rose, Catherine as an aide appears and scolds, clear your throat, speak up my friend tenses under her white robe I feel her fear or is it anger I touch her arm if only she knew nothing at all as I leave I hate the trimmed bushes the flowers in ordered beds the domed door awnings covering the unbearable