Toddy

[Smiling_Rose]

i have a feeling that the lack of subtlety at the end of this poem kind of ruins it.. what do you think?

Toddy


Corridor lit with sallow light,
Urine hangs in the air.
She sits at the end in a room of her own,
She stares.
She isn’t crazy, this one.

She smiles at each visitor,
Talks about the weather,
Listens to tales of busier lives.
She complains, sometimes.

She can’t see when she’s had a stroke,
Her left arm sometimes doesn’t move,
Her feet are swollen.
She still gets up to answer the phone.
She hates the strawberry mouse.
Pink plastic, she says, and I’m diabetic.

Raining, dripping down her clean windows.
Winter, they say, English weather.
Dripping hats and coats and snivelling children,
pulled past her open door.

On her windowsill is a lily.
It reflects light. It’s pale and subtle
With pink streaks.
Its at it’s peak, she says, there’s only one bulb left to bloom.
It’ll die soon, she says, shame really.
I need a photo, she says.

A man, son of the vegetable next door,
Says he’ll bring his camera.
I’ll snap it, he says,
I’ll print it off, he says.

Of course it had died when he brought the camera
It won’t last a week, she’d said.