we babies of the boom, now middle-aged, overweight, out of what were once our so-alluring shapes, now with spouses gone we wrinkle and sag. we sometimes flock together in the evenings, laughing over dinner and dry red wine. once we would have paired and been naked by midnight—three a.m. at the latest—now we take our leavings at ten, returning alone to our separate homes where we will later be illuminated by television’s flickering glow, watching a fantasy world in which we no longer see reflections of ourselves. we awaken early in the dark of our narrow beds, get up, it’s time to feed the animals, put out the trash.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)