Exeter Street

She was never impressed with this place

Despite the baby grand in the parlor

The elegance of bygone eras dancing

In spaces under and above

Proper meals at appointed times

Always tea at two

Yet, a prison called old age left her here,

With other old people, in a place her children chose

In an old brownstone that hosted parties

For men in top hats and women in gold dresses

A century ago,

When she was a girl in a coastal town

Where the mist was an everyday mood

And she climbed trees to gain a view

Of her future or maybe just a beetle

Struggling to survive