Oct 20
LET DEATH BE IRISH
"I see Death..." she whispers
" like a retirement plan
living was such hard work."
she talks as if
Death itself
was standing by her bed
"The grapes and fruit?
no I never eat 'em
I just sketch 'em!"
sunlight slithers
across the hospital floor
sneaks under her bed
"My reflection
escapes the mirror.
Nothing but...nothing there."
"As for my shadow
it comes...it goes
a slave of the sun."
"Only my ghost
sits on my bed
chats to me
about how
things
are to be."
"I hope Death is Irish
and says: 'Ah howya pet
are ya comin' or wot?'"
*
When I used to visit her before she got so ill I would always call out to her: 'Ah howya pet are ya comin' or wot?'" and she would take my arm and we would trundle off around her garden or the park if she could mangae it that day.
When she was in hospital and could no longer even stand up I would put her arm through mine and we would go for a walk in words as I would tell her what was to be seen.
She loved this as much as the real thing and to her now it was even the more realer as I held her up with my voice perambulating through an imaginary park.
When she wanted one of these flignt of fancy walks she would always say to me:' Ah howya pet are ya comin' or wot?'" And off we would go walking in the footsteps of my voice.
"I see Death..." she whispers
" like a retirement plan
living was such hard work."
she talks as if
Death itself
was standing by her bed
"The grapes and fruit?
no I never eat 'em
I just sketch 'em!"
sunlight slithers
across the hospital floor
sneaks under her bed
"My reflection
escapes the mirror.
Nothing but...nothing there."
"As for my shadow
it comes...it goes
a slave of the sun."
"Only my ghost
sits on my bed
chats to me
about how
things
are to be."
"I hope Death is Irish
and says: 'Ah howya pet
are ya comin' or wot?'"
*
When I used to visit her before she got so ill I would always call out to her: 'Ah howya pet are ya comin' or wot?'" and she would take my arm and we would trundle off around her garden or the park if she could mangae it that day.
When she was in hospital and could no longer even stand up I would put her arm through mine and we would go for a walk in words as I would tell her what was to be seen.
She loved this as much as the real thing and to her now it was even the more realer as I held her up with my voice perambulating through an imaginary park.
When she wanted one of these flignt of fancy walks she would always say to me:' Ah howya pet are ya comin' or wot?'" And off we would go walking in the footsteps of my voice.
