Is it to another ward, to another wound,
that is in need of stitches to be sewn?
You’ve left the stove frothing at the lid,
can your couple of quid not wait for lunch?
Your son is sat still with a coffee,
whilst you’ve gone to buy another toffee, poppy seed, frothy beverage- surely that’s not fair, is it?
Your Yorkshire Terrier, alone in the South,
is terrified from the traffic, moist at the mouth.
Lines of used literature are waiting to be read,
why have you left them to help your hash-head son on his second come-down of the day?
big issue seller and gym mother-of-one,
market stall second-hand book woman,
where do you all go?