Phantom of Assisted Living

Two kinds of ghosts have I known;
floaters who have no feet,and those who have feet,
but are no less stuck in time than ghosts

Vladimir married the second kind.
She was not always so.
He made Doris senile.

Two years ago, Doris died RIP, and last year,
Vladimir moved into an assisted living facility.
He doesn't care for it a bit, but what without children where to go?

It reels more lonely than when he lived by himself.
By and by, he tries to contact acquaintances not seen in ages.
You know how that goes. They're either dead or traceless.

These days, Vladimir seems to be afflicted
with a touch of Doris's malady, albeit increasing in increments.
Erasure does not befall you all at once, you know.

One morning,Vladimir awakens with a name on his lips
he has not uttered in at least two decades.
Harold Newman is his name. How strange.

During Vladimir's seventh year itch of marriage to Doris,
he developed a teenage crush on Harold,
a fellow professor at a community college.

Vladimir mails a post card to Harold's last known address
The tone is formal. Thinking of you. Write me.
It's of the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset.

What follows is a trail of misguided communications:
The first is the reply to the Golden Gate post card
mailed on November 12, 1995.

(Reply) April 1, 1996.

Dear Vladimir,

Your postcard arrived at my place, but addressed to a Harold Newman.
Notwithstanding, the error, it's nice to know you're still alive

Lovingly, Mapovia..

(Vladimir's response) September 62, 199y

Mapovia who?

V.

(Mapovia's response to Vladimir)

Vlad, you gotta be kidding. Your mother was my mother kid sister.
How many summers we spent together at Cape Hatteras.

With love, Mapovia 12/24/04

To that communique, there would be no reply.
Vladimir had died two years before the postman
delivered the letter to Fountain's Assisted Living.