She wore the lines impressed on her leathern face

Like the rings of a tree

Her hair hanging down in dark brown tea stained tendrils

Her eyes both blank and sad

Dark marbles starring into nothing

Her skin hung on her bones

Like a tired bag of clothes

Her brow deeply farrowed

Now lies fallow of all the concerns of parenthood

As she moves among the rooms of her flat

The queues at the shops

At the bank

Lost in her own world

Her trekkie bottoms hang on by a miracle of science

Her trainers have seen plenty of service

As have the fingers

That bear the yellow of numerous smokes

Along with the rattled cage of coughing beneath her ribs

Bearing testament to the heavy leaden shuffle

Of her legs and feet

But occasionally

Just occasionally

Through the rasping heaving tired

And suckered teeth that remain between the gaps

A smile breaks the bedevilled lips

For reasons that only she knows

And nobody else will question