A Daughter’s Lament
She threatened to be outrageous,
promised to wear purple,
said that if we tried to put her in a home
we’d have to find her first.
But she was all talk, stayed put,
stuck to Marks and Spencer beige,
took too long to make her move,
forgot life wasn’t a rehearsal.
Unable to conceal confusion
as her body breaks faith,
her panicked eyes
refuse to recognise reality.
All I can do is watch her weaken,
witness wretched outrage;
forced to fade with a woebegone whimper,
too late for a valedictory roar.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ann Gibson would be
pleased to hear them.