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Array
(
[sid] => 20480
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Waiting for the inevitable
[time] => 2003-07-15 20:45:00
[hometext] => a poem about old age... not too Larkin-esque i hope... please comment : )
[bodytext] => Perched underneath a fading floral patterned parasol On a sticky green plastic chair Trembling feebly as a messily presented salmon sandwich Is lifted by an equally shaking hand A hand belonging to somebody else Lifted up to your gaping, expectant mouth Familiar territory for the hand Where saliva has collected and needed to be removed Where pills have been poked and where teeth have been brushed Minute white hairs plucked from the chin Tongue lifted, pinched between two fingers To ensure easy access for a pipette. O yes, these hands know your face too well Your folded, cracked, crumbling skin Flaking like weathered paint on statues in council funded patches of green Where you used to sit until you became too weak These hands know your chapped lips and sagging, lagging neck Milky eyes and nicotine-stained teeth Your grey hair has many a time been blue-rinsed by these Your makeup applied in a desperate attempt to preserve – But there is no formaldehyde in your foundation You cannot be saved It is too late You are decaying You are rotting Gazing, pleading with those nearly blind eyes Jaw hanging open like a busted car door Ancient saliva glands working overtime Waiting to be fed You depend on these hands totally Yet the sickening, blood thickening Disgusting, revolting Mind convulting, truly vile and repulsive truth is this: You depend on these hands totally But without you, these hands would not exist, could not exist You made these hands when you were still young and healthy You created them when you could still grip them In those days it was your hands feeding this mouth O how the tables have turned ‘Feed me’ your barely readable face seems to say ‘Feed me’ you whisper. Or is it ‘Free me’? Is that what you’re trying to say? Release you? That’s not my responsibility But know this: When I lift this sandwich up to your cavernous mouth I am trembling Trembling with anticipation Waiting for the inevitable with baited breath I’ll feed you now, and smile sweetly For it is just a matter of waiting. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 153 [topic] => 21 [informant] => endeformetrance [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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