Xanthippe

Sanity had left the
Bedraggled folds of her ancient body
Long ago: but she still
Seemed to have authority
In her blood, like iron.
Standing in the front doorway,
Clutching at her fragile hips
Unaware that, beyond skin,
Everything was crumbling

Being insane though, perhaps she did -
Perhaps she thought of herself
As the sunken ruins of a Roman city

Even though the fluids and sections of
Her brain had all run into one another
She never forgot how to cook him his
Meals from tins: every day,
On the dot, you could hear the
Aggravated tin opener scrape,
Punctuated by pauses,
When she needed to scratch at
Her wet little nose