*

*

A youngish man, the music therapist

passes out maracas

to folks in wheelchairs, side by side,

many doze, a few eyes are open

*

He glides through the oldies,

Patsy Cline Crazy, Everly Brothers Dream,

These boots are made for walkin’

under the boardwalk

*

David, who rarely sits,

shuffles across the room,

smelling of shit—again—

Someone alerts the staff

*

Leaving on a jet plane

no one here will fly anywhere

Talking ‘bout my girl

No one here talks much

*

The music therapist always ends

with Amazing Grace, this being

a Catholic facility, those

who are here were once found,

but now are lost