un poème

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.