At the Elm Street Market they sit and chat like Mayberry’s best
all retired, some widowed, all lonely.
Under the pretense of the morning news they
drink coffee and smoke cigarettes.
Contacts formerly provided by work and family have drifted.
Gone are the blueprints for a structured existence.
Gone are the words of their youth.
Well aware of what they need,
they reach out to each other.
they begin to draw the diagrams.
They hunt for words to rewrite their lives.