He rarely takes her
Gripped under her arm
His frail, slow moving Mother
Lady of the World
Hunchbacked over her cane
Balanced, to the Supermarket
Where we greet them in a hurry
Always wishing them a Good Morning
That to me was unimaginable
Her stink grabs me
Every time like a surprising attack
A lizard.
The very old die
The window remains closed
At night he starts to sing
Religious songs
Not meant for my eyes
Empty space, a climbing frame
Many times I bring him delivered packages
Model train sets
Or bake it yourself cakes
First I discover both canes in the garbage
I begin to see
What has happened.
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