She came bustling into view as I looked
Out on to the grey morning. A lady
Of advancing years, her face contorted
From anything recognizable as
Beauty. I thought it must be the cold wind
That blew her ageing bones and wrinkled flesh
Into a flustered unselfconsciousness.
She needed help to write a cheque. At first
I did not see how strange this was; she spoke
As if it were the most natural thing.
“You’ve got your dinner on it” – but she said
She had not eaten yet. Instructions giv’n,
She left, treated I realized as if
A young child, and yet the faint residue
Of adulthood still hung around her speech.
This was an incident involving a lady who has since passed away, but was then sinking into dementia.