Photo: Wally Wright
Halfway across Broadway
her wobbly cart bends
and she falls onto the street
We rush out, help her back to a bus stop bench
Dazed, unfocused eyes
Eventually she tells us her name is Maxine
A cute young woman stops by
She’s on her way to a sex party
at an apartment down the block
Maxine has let her underwear and breasts peek out of her dress—
a too-small purple sheet stapled together
“Girl, you gotta cover yourself up”
Does her best
to make her decent
We’ve called an ambulance
but Maxine won’t go
Says she can’t afford it
She lives alone
Is 86
Has no one she can call
No one to take care of her
The EMTs are worried she’s concussed
But they can’t make her go
They say she’ll get a proper walker at the hospital
Duke and I finally convince her to get into the ambulance
As it zooms off
Flashing blaring
I hope we did the right thing
And I wonder what the sex party
will be like
This story
will probably
kill
the
mood
Wally Wright writes memoir-driven poems about queer life, bad decisions and lingering Catholic guilt. His work has appeared in Star 82 Review, Queerlings, Rat’s Ass Review and elsewhere. He lives in Chicago and runs the travel and culture blog The Not So Innocents Abroad with his husband, Duke.