Bare yellow walls,
painted white sill.
Books, lining hall,
bed without frill.
Curtains drawn closed,
windows sealed shut.
Still air, unbreathed;
intimate dust.
Scuffed, neat slippers,
knocked eye-to-eye;
kipper draped socks
hung up to dry.
An old wet room
tiled as flesh pink:
toilet, shower,
flannel and sink.
Cupboard cups cracked,
plates piling high.
Tilting pots stacked.
taps, twisted dry.
Cheap, dented tins,
dated with guilt;
fancy fridge things
black as the milk.
Nobody grieves.
Door hung on latch;
tobacco leaves.
Medicines packed.
Tea cupped round stains.
Skin shrunk to bone.
Burrowed eyes lame:
man, home alone.
Hair coarse as seeds,
clothes grown in moss.
Elbows now weeds:
face, melting frost.
Sawdust for feet,
plywood for nails.
Skin sucked to seat.
Head shrunk to veil.
Controls remote,
remains on seat;
body now bled,
sat up to great.
All home alone.
Time made to kill.
Still, silent phone,
pension paid bills.
Visitors come,
too late to dine;
cleansing the wound,
trespassing time.
Sorting the mess.
Marking the list.
Memory games.
Remains of missed.