We return day after day like migratory doves
to newspapers, books, the blue light of CNN,
the mute on.  No, the local news is more important; 
A friend’s scheduled surgery, another remarrying
at age 83 to a babe ten years under than himself.

Coffee and donuts, twenty-five cents each
from the bakery uptown, sprinkled with jokes
we’ve told dozens of times before. 

Lunch; turkey a-la-king, Friday fish
for Catholics who swear they’ve never heard
of Vatican II. And the seating: always unreserved
which we’ve nevertheless been reserving for years.

Then the tables cleared for our games of canasta
that have gone on longer than forever: four-handed
if you don’t count the folks commenting on each trick, 
none of us ever trying for trump but rather
content to simply lay down our hearts.