Crone

Today, I hid my face away
Behind a thin black veil
And pretended to mourn.

And I enjoyed the looks of pity
I was thrown by passers by,
As I wound my tottering way home.

I clutched my Tesco’s plastic bag
Fiercely in one swinging hand,
The handle wound around my wasting wrist.

I couldn’t remember who had died,
My mind seemed to have closed that door
Like all the others.

I went to the funeral
Of whoever it was,
Wearing the thin black veil-

That was 4 years ago,
And I haven’t taken it off.
I like the feel of it on my skin,

And of course, the comforting stares
Of total strangers,
Who are more understanding than friends.

At home, I grinned ghoulishly to myself,
Sipping my ribena,
Spiked with gin.

The grandchildren had come for lunch,
And awkward conversation-
They thought perhaps they had taken it all

But I had been wicked,
And hid one bottle in a safe place.
So that I could feel young and reckless

Of course,
I had not been able to remember where it was,
When I went to look.

I had rummaged around
On my hands and knees,
Coughing like an old smoker, ’til I found it.

And then I had sat on a cold chair in the kitchen,
The lights off to save energy,
And I had giggled girlishly; drunkenly.

Suddenly, I had stopped,
Looking about me,
As if a hundred years had passed,

Trying to think why I was holding
A half-empty bottle of gin,
In a cold, dark kitchen.

Nothing came.
And I knew my mind was seeping away,
As grains of sand in an hourglass.

And then a girl started coming
From the NHS, to help me clean.
As if I couldn’t do it myself!

“Poor old dear, she can’t cope…”
I, who raised 6 children,
And always had a spotless home!

I let the poor dear polish the fender,
And dust the odd thing. But then,
Late at night, I guiltily got out the hoover

And cleaned the house by torchlight.
The neighbours knocked,
Thinking I was being robbed,

And I answered the door in my nightdress,
With rollers in my hair,
Leering like a phantom.

I savagely enjoyed the frozen stares
Of pity, and almost disgust,
As I told them not to worry.

Then last night, I cooked a meal for two.
I set the table expectantly,
Then realised there was no-one but me.

So I wrapped everything in plastic
And had it cold for breakfast.
Waste not, want not.



Later, about 11 o’clock,
I found myself walking down the street
Clutching a plastic bag.

I stopped In the middle of the road
And watched a car screech to a halt,
Lights flashing urgently.

And it was as though I were an onlooker,
Watching cars rush past some dozy old crone
Some swerving just in time, not having seen her.

She was just standing there
In the middle of the road,
With a black veil over her eyes

Staring at the oncoming traffic
With a vacant expression,
As if waiting for a bus.