A Facility For The Poor And Demented Poem by Donal Mahoney

Fred visits Bill every month at
the facility he's been in for years.
Age and booze brought Bill there.
He's still strapped to his bed
so he can't go wandering again
when he gets a taste for a beer.

Bill calls Fred by name this time
and asks if Jim has found a job.
Fred tells Bill no but doesn't
remind him their cousin is dead.
All three would go fishing as kids
for bluegill, crappie and catfish
with cane poles in summer.
There'd be a big family fish fry.

Bill says he's going home soon
but there is no home to go to.
His trailer was sold long ago
to help pay the bill at the facility
where every so often nurses
turn him to avoid bed sores.
The state checks for those.
A license can be suspended.