Seemingly sitting in her living room
forever, she saw daily the sofa and
armchairs in their worn floral coats
the mirror in its brassy frame rubbed
up weekly by the home help from
social services.Unable to even
shower on her own, her failing body
jailed her in her own home.
Her daughters and granddaughters
visited, sometimes moving her in
her walker into the conservatory
where she stared out into the
street from her big old chair
waving to passing neighbours.
She envied her husband his mobility
scooter freedom but was thankful for
his company. He knew her feelings,
one day helping her, puffing and
gasping, on to his scooter, as her
lumbering body sagged its weight
on to the scooter’s chair.
Triumphantly she rode down the ramp
to their driveway, down to the street
as he stumbled haphazardly after her
on the walking frame. Excitedly she
looked up and down the street.
Sheer exhilaration ! Her Everest
remembered from months ago.
Now her body’s painful objections
stabbed through her. She gasped, leant
back in the chair, then turned at last
back up her driveway, into her home,
into her living room cell.
Her last outing.
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