Sitting

She's sitting in her favourite chair

In the cold window bay

She does not move or speak a word

she has nothing to say

The world that passes by her now

So fast and in a blur

Uncomprehending images

With syllables that slur

Hot food brought to her on a tray

With lid to keep heat in

Too weak to lift or to inspect

The contents held within

Untouched the tray is then removed

No one checks it to see

If she has eaten anything

of the culinary debris

Her hair once thick now fine as silk

Has seen no comb for days

There's no need to dress smartly

No compliment or praise

Her hygiene once so important

now taken for a bath

Only when she begins to smell

Attended by staff wrath

Her husband of some sixty years

she's not allowed to see

Is in an all male nursing home

Whose house sale pays the fee

She dreams at night of images

screams like one pursued

restrained to meet the morning

sedated and subdued