's the word...
MumShe has never been satisfied. The soupis too hot, the carrots undercooked,slabs of beef chunky with fat,and the tomato flavor bland.Sunlight shears the lace curtainsleaving their edges frayed or singed,while humidity swamps her curls, even afterhaving spent all that money at the hairdresser's.Her friends have started dressing up as if every day was Sunday in church,and some who still have their eyesightgossip about those who have lost their hearing.The only one who will pay attentionnow that her husbands have diedis her daughter whom she phones hourlyto see how much guilt she can cause.She knows better but cannot help herself.The nurses are never around enough.In the face of all this sweet indifferenceresisting death, she refuses to be silenced.[Disposable Poem September 6, 2006]
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