166. nana.

she was losing her marbles
and knew it
and even found aspects of it
amusing to herself;
stuck in reverse, heading back
at the speed of light
towards childhood.
a mouse under the table !  motionless,
& flattened with the coal shovel
was in fact
a mislaid spoonful of marmalade –
dressed in a fortnight’s worth of fluff
& miraculously overlooked
by the attentions of the antique Hoover.
The butcher on the phone
explaining (again)
that the reason the lamb cutlets had not
yet been delivered was because
its four in the morning & not the afternoon as she thought.
The lovely lady who made boiled sweets
and cakes and biscuits and “real” coffee
in bone china for eleven year-olds
knew that this was
the beginning of the end,
but laughed about it anyway,
and never told us to be careful with the cups.