I sit by
Your bed
And listen to
Something in the back
Of your wrinkled throat
Rattle.
You look over
All concerned
Thinking, I bet
That I’m thinking
Of your death (rasp)
‘Oh gone are the days of my beauty’
You crack
Long gone I think
Are the days of
Poetry
You turn your
Crumbling eyes to
The window
Trying to
See something, but
It is barred.
‘The grass was always greener’
More nonsense
Your eyes
Return to me
‘Thank you for coming, I didn’t think I would get to say goodbye’
‘It’s fine.’
There’s another
Crack and
You are gone.
On my way out
I ring Tom, your
Grandson “Your grandma’s dead.’
‘Thanks’ he says
‘For going’
‘O.K.’ I reply
‘You owe me a night of long drinks’.
