Listening to Doris.(Brief Article)(Poem)

 
Listening to Doris 
 
   They come to my bedside with gifts, 
   yellow daisies from my own garden, 
   brown paper bags of figs good for 
 
   nothing but jam. That backyard fig's 
   as ancient and twisted as me--seems 
   like we're both ready for the chop. 
 
   And my girls might've told their mum. 
   The house, it's gone on the market. 
   My favorite nurse spotted the sign. 
 
   Their dad, he'd have put a spoke 
   in their wheel, quick smart, but I'm 
   your Que sera sera type of person. 
 
   Would you believe Doris Day was 
   singing that very song (in my head 
   mind you) when 1 woke to white 
 
   walls and long faces. Who died? …