Well if I get cancer and don’t live very long it will it will save me from much anxiety,
Will I go blind as I’ve already lost one eye? Don’t worry I didn’t lose it on a night out
Will I end up in a wheelchair in my arthritis gets worse?
Will I always have problems with food?
Will I forget how to write a villanelle?
At least when you get cancer you won’t be worrying about whether you will get cancer. But then I can always think of some other aspects of life to worry about like it comes to remission will it come back and after permission for another act.?
As Mary ate her Weetabix, she felt a pain in her left leg rather like a toothache gone awol Emile, what are you doing? Emile crawled out looking dusty. And he had just had a bath. I was trying to bite the hairs off your leg, he miaowed plaintively There are no hairs on my leg, she whispered. Oh, dear,I must have walked into a cobweb I wish Stan had got a cobweb brush, she muttered. But do we really need a different brush for everything? Soon we will have one for each tooth. That will be expensive She felt in her pocket for her Tablet. She wanted to draw a diagram of her brush cupboard using an Android App. But her pocket was empty The back door opened and in ran Annie wearing a yellow nightdress and matching slippers Hello, she cried. I wanted to catch you before 9 am Why, asked Mary? The postman will be here by then. He has got a parcel for me. But I put your address. What is the point of secrecy when you live alone. You have no man to question your expenses, have you? Nor a woman either Well, Emile might ask me to explain. Just because Emile is male it does not give him the right to tell you what to do All my life I have obeyed men, Annie cried Yes, after you have manipulated, seduced and terrified them That is very cruel. I was only trying to help them. Well, you may have done, but why not help yourself? How can I do that? Tune into your body and see what comes to mind Beetroot, Annie responded. So you must need them, get dressed and we will go to the greengrocers You have got very bossy, said Annie. Did you have a nightmare? It was more like a night-tiger, Mary revealed. Something bit my foot and it hurt Oh, mother , cried Emile, it was me! You, Emile. What made you do that, she said angrily? It was in my way as I crawled under the duvet, the cat whispered Surely you could have gone further down. I wanted to see what you tasted like! That is evil, not to say perverted, Mary told him. I shall take you for therapy or would Confession be better? Is it a compulsion you cannot help or is it a sin? Annie was silent. She did not like questions nor any kind of prolonged thought Don’t ask me, she finally said. Maybe Emile needs a man in the house. I don’t want any more men, Mary said sadly. They seem to die Well, Stan was 128 years old. Annie informed her.I saw his birth certificate once. Unless it was 12.8 years Don’t be so ridiculous. How could he have been 12.8 years old? It must be a miracle, said Annie. Tell the Pope and he might be declared a saint soon St Stan of Knittingham, Patron Saint of Almost Adolescents. The bell rang. In ran Dave. He was dressed in navy. I am ready to take you to Church, he told the ladies To church? I’d rather go to Wigan Pier Oh, the sea is not there on Sundays! Is it there on the Sabbath, Annie muttered? No, it’s not, Dave said quietly Wow, two more miracles, she said as she fainted into the Pantry How annoying, Mary said. I just classified the jam Well, things could be worse, said Dave. She’s not broken any and cut herself What, she falls and breaks nothing. She must be very light. Yes, she nearly is electric, he quipped Whatever next?
Inside my mind I dream of pearls, Caterpillars,snails with whorls. I dream contented, all enwrapped; With reverie and dream I’m lapped. The inner seas will comfort me, While gods open my eyes to see
Oh,sweeter than confectionery Is my Oxford diction’ry. The words whirl round then fall to shape The sentences which my world make. This furnishing is rich and strange And magically self arranged.
Oh,sweeter than the love of man Is reading works of poets long gone; Feeling deeply their dark tides . Upon which our boat may glide. The sea infinite we float upon Is the same warm sea the ancients swam..
Sweeter still is the spring air And the blossom spreading fair. We’ll drown our selves in grassy fields To the gods of poetry yield. We’ll rise again and spring up tall To grow more rich until we fall
How my heart sings 