She told me she might need it
Don’t throw it away
No help needed
To sort cluttered piles
Of words on papers
She’s staring at
Surrounded by
Stacks of memories
Magazines and tabloids
These make her
Long lonely days in bed
Bearable
As they close in
On her hidden away secret life
Unlived
But out she goes
Maybe once a day
Alone with
Makeup and hair done
Up to listen to
Gossip from an earshot away
Crosswords, waitresses, restaurant booths
Daily companions
For orders placed
For hide, eat, gotta run
On her way home again
Strangers are company
Her fast food friends
Take her daily orders
Coffee to go
Back to the womb of clutter
No help needed
Don’t throw it away
— Brenda Johima
