Every long and lonely day She is seen in her greyness And beautiful honesty For she has no wit to lie Her age and her nervousness Make her obviously vulnerable As she worries in her doorway And so it goes
A stranger approaches He looks safe enough Yes, safe enough She asks the usual question "Can you tell me what day it is, please?" Surprised amusement in his eyes "It's Saturday, love" "Saturday. Thank you very much" And so it follows
Saturday I know that I only ask for something to say I'd have no-one to talk to if I didn't Saturday I know that No-one came again today Oh they must think I'm such a fool Asking what day it is But they can see I'm old Saturday Yes, I'm old I can't remember how old Too old, too old Oh dear, what day did he say it was? Was it Saturday? Yes, that's right Saturday No-one came again today No-one ever comes I'll die alone and no-one will know I could lie dead for days No-one will know for days Days and days The days go so slowly Or is it quickly I wonder what day it is Oh dear, I've forgotten again I'll have to ask someone They'll think I'm such a fool Still, they can see I'm very old "Excuse me, can you tell me what day it is, please?"
By Phil Roberts
This poem was inspired by an old lady who lived close by. She asked what day it was every time someone went past.