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un poème

Publié le 19 Janvier 2013 par F/.

The Last Words of My English Grandmother


There were some dirty plates

and a glass of milk

beside her on a small table

near the rank, disheveled bed --


Wrinkled and nearly blind

she lay and snored

rousing with anger in her tones

to cry for food,


Gimme something to eat --

They're starving me --

I'm all right -- I won't go

to the hospital. No, no, no


Give me something to eat !

Let me take you

to the hospital, I said

and after you are well


you can do as you please.

She smiled, Yes

you do what you please first

then I can do what I please --


Oh, oh, oh ! she cried

as the ambulance men lifted

her to the stretcher --

Is this what you call


making me comfortable ?

By now her mind was clear --

Oh you think you're smart

you young people,


she said, but I'll tell you

you don't know anything.

Then we started.

On the way


we passed a long row

of elms. She looked at them

awhile out of

the ambulance window and said,


What are all those

fuzzy looking things out there ?

Trees ? Well, I'm tired

of them and rolled her head away.



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