Open The Damn Door

I have gotten older and I lost my hair.  You stopped sending me a Valentine card, and there are no more Birthday greetings, or us sharing a bottle of wine.  I stayed out till quarter to three and you locked the door, so I guess that you don’t still need me, and you won’t offer to feed me.  I just stopped by to mend a fuse, because I heard that your lights went out.  I wanted you to be able to finish knitting that sweater that you were working on.  It all went wrong that summer when we rented that cottage on the Isle of Wight, that Sunday morning when we went for a ride and I said that your mother was ruining our garden, as she claimed to be digging the weeds and I saw her digging the flowers instead.

That was the last straw, we had scrimped and saved to make our garden perfect.  I just indicated precisely what I meant to say and you took your mother’s side over mine.  Now I am wasting away trying to get you to open up the locked door and I know that you are inside just laughing at me.  You probably have our grandchildren on your knee, Vera, Chuck and Dave.  I am leaving now, so send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating your point of view.  Give me your answer, fill in a form now that I’m sixty-four.

Written for Sue Vincent’s June 20, 2019 Thursday Photo Prompt.

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