Marg Roberts has been reading and writing poetry for about 15 fifteen years. She lives in Leamington Spa and loves cycling, gardening and family.
This hard, upholstered chair is not mine.
Through the windows men and women
get out of cars to go shopping.
The door is not our door.
In the corner of the room is an aquarium
Angel fish, Zebra fish and glints of colour.
We have a dog called Roger; we aren’t keen on fish.
Perfume fills the air like a disguise.
In uniform step into the room
Though no one is ill.
You pat my hand.
I ask, ‘How are you?’
You do not answer.
In the palm of my hand a biscuit is melting.
I lick the chocolate
As delicately as a kitten.
Next to me, an elderly couple sit close on a settee.
She slips a hand into the front of his trousers.
Off the trees.
You are frowning. Your lips move.
A woman says, ‘Time for tea.’
I get up from my chair and follow her.
A voice inside me, asks,
‘How did you know I was here?’
Footnote: I wrote this poem as a way of trying to understand my mother’s experience of dementia.
on display in Wilde’s Wine Bar, the Parade, Leamington Spa
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