11-23-2012, 05:58 PM
The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
though they look like Vietnam:
there’s an arm in a sling, a neck in a brace,
her name is a flinch on a foreign face.
She hasn’t attacked for a day and a half
but the unspoken pact is easily snapped.
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push -
not the Long March but the Apocalypse.
A Brass Band plays in the Winter Gardens
each Sunday of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree,
an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spite filled sky;
she spills tea and bemoans the weather,
partly here, part music-hall era.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band play Over The Rainbow
without a stumble in their schedule,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings - sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float around our eyes
disturbed by weight of water.
though they look like Vietnam:
there’s an arm in a sling, a neck in a brace,
her name is a flinch on a foreign face.
She hasn’t attacked for a day and a half
but the unspoken pact is easily snapped.
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push -
not the Long March but the Apocalypse.
A Brass Band plays in the Winter Gardens
each Sunday of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree,
an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spite filled sky;
she spills tea and bemoans the weather,
partly here, part music-hall era.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band play Over The Rainbow
without a stumble in their schedule,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings - sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float around our eyes
disturbed by weight of water.
Before criticising a person, try walking a mile in their shoes. Then when you do criticise them, you're a mile away.....and you have their shoes.