The Corset

You knew the end was coming
as you removed your corset and slipped
beneath
the pink nylon sheets.
No words were spoken, neither did
the world come
crashing down around us, with you in bed
corset-less at two on a monday afternoon.

Banjo barked
 it sounded like a happy bark or so I thought.
The clock ticked, and then tocked.
 How much longer
before we could shut it up for ever, no
more swinging
pendulum, clanking down the time.

Bonkers granddad adjusted his hearing aid
he said the signal from radio
Mars was weak today.
 He fiddled with the knobs then finished off
his cold, stewed tea.
Your corset we had placed over a chair
whale bone
I was told, constructed by the same company
that built the
seventh bridge (or so my Brother said)
but then Brothers,
especially mine, often got it wrong.

I fidgeted wanting to
go outside and play.
I longed for some music so I could hum
away the time.
I drifted into childhood thoughts until I
heard
Granddad saying - ‘she’s gone’
before pulling
up the sheet across your sleeping face.
Father Gordon did some
ritual thing with his
fingers and hands waving over your body
but you
stayed asleep, so I guess God was
not in that day.

We shuffled out single file, well aware that
this was the end of an era.
The ending of dictate and being
frog marched to church every
 Sunday morning.
I have to admit to a little smile – as the corset slid defeated
to the floor.
Its long days of
rigid control  now being well, and truly
over...