Baby Boomers

In between breaths of Mallomars
It feels like springtime in Queens
Walking down stoops in single layers
Of sweaters and house dresses
Between the lacy blinds that line
Wooden doors with doorknobs that
Reflect back thousands of miniature faces
That twist and turn in time vortexes
Remembering the smell of coffee from 1940
Perfume wafting from wallpaper that peels
Curling like toenails along walls
Deprived of natural sunlight for decades
Until it was determined that an
Excavation was in order to uncover
What it means to grow old alone
After making a promise to do so in pairs

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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