Mrs Flood – a poem

Mrs Flood

 

Father lifts and lowers; her nightdress hitches

Stuck on ivory hips.

Droops into the seat,

Following skin beneath her:

 

Two plastic bags, carelessly left,

Fill in the rain.

A little water in their bottoms –

Sagging wet and wrinkling.

 

Ten pence of plastic;

She spends a penny

In a pot in a chair

By her bedside.

 

What cringing horror

Her mind would feel,

To be this body.

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