Two Ladies

23 December 2012

I was walking in the sunshine

In the street this Sunday morn.

I was wearing only slippers

‘cause my skin was badly torn

On my feet and on my ankles,

On my arms and on my chest.

So I didn’t really worry

That I wasn’t dressed the best.

And I still derived amusement

When I thought about my plight

That psoriasis afflicts you

When the rest of you is right.

Way ahead I saw two ladies

Who reside next door to me

In the old age home that has been

Home to them and home to me

For some years, maybe a decade.

Me, I have been less than ten,

Yes, it’s now eight years exactly

Since I signed and then moved in.

  

We had passed a row of hedges

Where the ladies stopped to smell

Blooms of white and luscious emerald

But their names I cannot tell.

Growing older, walking slower,

That is what I often find:.

Facts and figures, names, statistics

Will no longer come to mind.

Now the ladies must have heard me,

Slippers, silent thoughts, and all.

“Hello, John!” they turn and greet me,

And it’s now I am feeling small.

I’m in trouble, big, big trouble,

I must hide my head in shame

I cannot respond that quickly

I’ve forgotten both their names.

So I smile and wave a greeting,

Hail them in a cheerful tone,

Desperately still in search of …

‘Is it Mary, Maud, or Joan?’

When a car skids round a corner.

And a lamppost stops it dead.

Of the witnesses I promise

Ann and Ruth I won’t forget.