Analysis of Ada, in my building

Every Wednesday morning
She is bundled up
Leaning on her walker
Waiting for the transport bus
To the Seniors’ Centre.
I will stop to chat
With this queen of neighbours.
Widowed. Eighty perhaps.
Braving the elements
To shop for a few items.
Afternoons, two blocks away.
Exercise, Community, Stimulus.
Her contralto voice
Yodels a bit
From modulated winds.
Her memories are kept, hoarded.
She smiles at me.
Maybe in the Laundry Room.
But if I venture
Into a story of more than
Five sentences.
She drifts away.
Looks to one side.
Sighs.
Dismisses the encounter.
Avoiding embarrassments.
Has no comeback.
Nice Lady.
Nice Neighbour.
Nearly about to leave Port.
As have others.
(Murray most recently.)