Old Lady Jumpers

 

Elderly neighbour

Shuffles by, on the arm of her daughter.

Lovely day, she says.

Can’t complain, I reply – I could of course,

But I don’t because

This simple platitude crinkles up her

Beatific smile.

Husband died last year; nice man –thick glasses.

 Always said hello,

Arms folded on garden gate, tea in hand.

She goes on. Despite

Severed branch, her desiccated leaves still

Photosynthesise.

She squints at trace of blue still visible

Beneath the layered,

Slow moving, dirty grey dish-water clouds.

It’s just cold enough

For her fluffy mohair lilac jumper.

Drawers and bags filled with

Endless pastel hand-knits – knit one, purl one;

Contented clicking

In front of Countryfile, drop scones in oven.

No-one will want one -

Too old fashioned to be retro, or ironic.