At 88, my mother lives in a retirement home overlooking the ocean. She is trapped by the inevitability of aging, caught in the eternal rhythm of late life losses. I hope to use the poem's form to convey that sense of entrapment, and to allow her fierce anger to rattle around inside its cage. Her complaints are legion, increasingly exaggerated, and mostly legitimate. Angry at everyone in the place, angry at aging, angry at the world, she remains very much the woman she always was, and therefore very much alone. Her view is utterly inward, registering what there is of the outside world only as it reflects upon her own situation.