Queenie won’t be needing no milk...
not this morning; eight pints
still on the step. The milkman
raised the alarm. It only took him
so many days.
One of them god-awful ‘tower blocks’,
south of the Thames . Should have
torn it down, started again, years ago,
but folk need somewhere to live.
A loner she was – since her old man
died; a massive stroke, ten months since.
And then there was her son – a sapper
with the Royal Engineers.
The proverbial ‘Mummy’s boy’
when he came home on leave, at least.
He’d never married. Loved her too much,
what he always said.
‘Lung cancer’, his death certificate said.
Not one mention of ‘Gulf War Syndrome’.
It don’t exist, so say the MOD, but she
swore blind that’s what took him.
Didn’t get out much – walked with a stick.
Arthritis gave her gyp most of the time,
but she had the telly, and there was her cat.
She weren’t really meant to have one
but the Council turned a blind eye.
No one ever called, bar the rent-man...
until that afternoon...a week last Wednesday;
a knock on the door. Two geysers saying
they were from the Gas Board; not that she
thought to ask for no ID...
Nothing...just let them in; glad of someone
to talk to. “Read your meter, love? Nice place
you got here.” Even gave them a cup of tea;
her best bone china, would you believe?
And by way of a ‘thank you’, they tied her
to a chair – broke her heart. Made off
with all she had in the world...her old TV
and a biscuit tin where she’d keep
her pin-money and pension. If only
walls could talk.
Comments
skinner_jennifer | April 11, 2012 - 14:02
Oh Tina,
this is so sad and conveys how awful people can
be. The elderly are so vulnerable, especially
when they're on their own. Here you have described
a scene, that is all to frequent today.
I remember a time living in South Wales in the
early sixties, when my Aunty would leave her front door unlocked all the time, never dreaming of
locking it except at night.
As I've said you describe the scene well.
Jenny.
Silver Spun Sand | April 11, 2012 - 14:11
Thanks for reading, Jenny. You are so right in what you say.
My poem is loosely based on something that happened to our next door but one neighbours, about a year ago now, and it was just before Christmas too.
Tina
jolono | April 11, 2012 - 16:19
Tina, where did this come from? It's fabulous and so true to life! This is what I should be writing, not you, I started reading it and had no idea where it was going then the last two verses got me! Brilliant.
Sikander | April 11, 2012 - 16:27
Fantastic poem, SSS, and totally compulsive. The voice is incredible, really pulls you through. And so so sad.
Silver Spun Sand | April 11, 2012 - 18:48
Hey - thanks for that, jolono;-) It's something I've been messing around with for some time. The narrator started out as being many things, but then this idea struck me, and I took it from there really. So pleased you enjoyed it so much. You have 'made my day', as they say;-)
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | April 11, 2012 - 18:53
Thank you Sikander, pleased you thought so. And yes it is very sad, especially, as I explained to Jenny, as it is loosely based on a true story concerning my elderly neighbours. Life can be so cruel sometimes.
SSS;-)
MistakenMagic | April 12, 2012 - 17:08
"if only walls could talk" - love that final phrase, Tina! You tell a whole life's worth in your nine stanzas and weave a very rich and intriguing tapestry. Well done on the cherries :-)
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | April 12, 2012 - 19:35
Thanks so much, Magic. Good of you to leave such a lovely comment on this one. I had been working on it for quite some time...a few years actually, and your words mean a lot;-)
Hope things are well with you, and that you are still enjoying the Easter break;-)
Tina
Prettyrose | April 12, 2012 - 23:39
Hi Tina :) Loved this as usual great.
Well Done
KEEP writing
KEEP smiling :)
Trish
Silver Spun Sand | April 13, 2012 - 08:48
Many thanks, Pretty Rose. Appreciated;-)
Tina