All was lost on a daily basis:

she believed that there must be a thief

who was stealing for other faces

in need of spectacles and teeth.

 

The nocturnal feast was unfinished:

a weak bladder and toothless gums

left lipstick stains on the Guinness

and a trail of biscuit crumbs

 

to the Inco pad down the toilet

and a pool of piss on the ground.

The baby alarm was silent

and her knitting had all unwound

 

around a false breast on the carpet

that felt unwholesome to the touch 

and her diary with the targets

that she’ll miss so very much.

 

She liked Flanagan and Allen,

but she preferred The People’s Friend

and watching Britain’s Got Talent –

she never made it to the end.