I look out my window in our senior facility
as winds turn the page forward—

familiar change, we have seen it all before,
some nearly a century of it;
most of us will remember to set our clocks

back tonight, and regain
the hour of life we’ll lose again next spring.

When we meet in the corridor
we are acquainted with each other’s clothes.

As I look out the window
a fleet of pickup trucks pulls in, with a logo
I don’t recognize on their doors.

Smiling young men
wearing nametags get out and look around
at everything with appreciation.

We are all at our windows now, in fact—
this facility has had a change

of ownership. We are unsure of the season.