It’s been lonely this week
As the post didn’t come
It’s not for the letters or bills
But the young postie gives me
A smile and a wave
But she soon disappears down the hill.
I took down the box
With the photos today
And I spread them out on the settee
The colours are blurred
But the happiness clear
Or maybe that’s only to me.
The small children rush by
But nobody comes in
They haven’t a reason, you see,
But the loneliness – sometimes
I ache till I cry
It’ll pass though – I think it’s just me.
I look at my garden
It’s in such a state
I’ve got no-one to trim it these days
And I still get those dizzy spells
After my fall
Such a pity the kids moved away.
The windows need cleaning
I’ve a houseful of dust
How it got like this mystifies me.
When I was a girl I’d
Help polish the step
I can’t do it at all with my knees.
At a certain age you feel
The world through your pain.
Sometimes it’s from loss or from grief,
Then at others it’s
Knowing how little remains.
Time has left us such paltry relief.
I’ve been coughing all day
And it’s tired me out
So I’ve not had the heart for a tea.
I can’t climb to my bed,
I’ll just nap in my chair
But I’ll soon be all right, it’s just me.
I’ll pick up soon, I’m sure it’s just me.
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Stephen A. Linstead
Image: Paul Jones/University of Wollongong
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