(Sweet Home)

He’s gone at last. That’s twice he’s called this year
Church fetes! As if I’d nothing else to do.
And now the cups. Which one was his? The two
had better soak in bleach. She liked things clean.
Those knobs will need fresh Brasso. People smear
things so – the way he fumbled with the door,
and then the gate. She always said we need
three pair of hands. Perhaps that’s why she tore
those nursing applications up. The Matron seemed
quite disappointed, too, when I explained
how sharp her seizures were and that I saw
that I was needed here. They passed – but he
was useless – books and shadehouse orchids. Still,
she had men’s measure – spoke her mind. The day
that Denis came to ask – Oh well. She knew
the turn that things would take – his family came
from nothing. Irish too, at least the name
was anyway. Strange how he did so well.
Quite famous – if you need some rare disease
to be remembered by. But now the gate –
he ran his hands along the rails. I’ll leave
it for a while and then I’ll spray
it with the garden hose, the soap can wait
until those two next door go in, they watch
more closely every day.