Four Poems

Great Auntie Nicey

(‘No, not Nicey, it’s Eunice, pronounced Eunicey, as in the Greek’)

It’s not for long – she can’t get out – she’s asked for you.
Straighten her cushions, talk to her.
So I’m imprisoned too.

She winces as I try to shift her pain –
not there, that’s worse. I drop the cushion.
Clock hands creak. Nothing to say.

The boys are playing war outside – half naked, free.
Sit properly – not ladylike to loll about….
Boredom. Jaw aches. And hours till tea.

Well then – her breath a fog – d’you want to play?
She means the Chinese cabinet. I fumble
at its tiny doors. Now I can look away.

Open it – careful – you’re much too rough,
there’s something for you. Look inside.
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