Frail Age

She wakes early– crack of dawn
Tea in the hand, a good book in the other
She doesn't like the book
But it gets read anyway because
Somebody told her that it is a good book

The tea goes cold, as tea does
She sips, sips and spits it back out
The crack of dawn has come and gone
The sun is rising up off the ground
She must rise up off the bed again

It is now midmorning
The kitchen is cleaned, the clothes washed
The radio is off. The TV is off. The lights are off
The food in the fridge is off–
The refrigerator is broken

The man has come to take it away
It is now raining, midday, lunchtime
Lunch is not cold
On a radio, somewhere,
A man talks about the weather

It is afternoon
The dry clothes are wet again, the rain
Splashing down to destroy her labours
She stops, picks up her book, sits
She reads the book, but she does not enjoy it

She has lost her glasses
She searched the house through
She cannot remember what she is searching for
She reads the book, drinking from a cup
The tea is cold

It is noght, early enough still to watch the news
The refrigerator has not returned
Dinner from a packet
The clothes dry, the washing up done
She takes her hot tea and goes to bed

She recalls the day
Pondering her achivements
She has gaps in her memory, holes in the head
‘Oh how like is so droll, waiting to die’ She cries, silent
‘When you're too old.