she sits alone this christmas

Soft sprawling light engulf the living room

Her hat, which has seen better days

Garnishes the oak farmhouse table

Her tweed coat, discarded like a wrapper

Coils the sofa.

She was glad to get out of the bitter cold.

Her arthritic fingers tighten around

The bottle neck. A stiff drink is what she needs

To warm her insides and inflame her liver.

A cigarette tip glows, half tilted in the ashtray

Heaven only knows why she is still here.

She kicks off her shoes and wriggles her toes

Its like the new birth of a chick hatching out

Of it's shell.

She looks around and sees pictures of her

Grandchildren, sips the gin

And blows smoke rings in their honour.