the dread

The Dread


When my mother got old she changed from
an eagle into a sparrow, her false teeth kept
falling out; porridge and soup her diet.
When on the loo, she called nurse and said:
“I’ve crapped, come, dry my bum.”

In ten years time, I’ll be as old as she was
when she died; time isn’t slowing down, will
not stop, for a minute, so I can catch my breath.
It is painful to think that I may end up as her.
There will be no one who will love me then.