Helen Peterson: When Even The Neighbor's Cat Feels Sorry For Me

I listen to "The Fool on the Hill"
To forget that I am the loser in the duplex
scrubbing enchilada crumbs
out of the corners of the pan
my hands wrinkling with the effort
getting younger is not in the cards
at this point illusions swirl
down the drain white with flour tortilla
salsa sunspots dancing in the light
cast by a tired afternoon reflection.