[Author's note - Many thanks to M. J. and P. J. A. Croft for extensively correcting my Latin. I also apologize to the ghost of Karl Edward Wagner for nicking his idea. He will know

The noughties. The nought-ies. So much is gone. The dog is dead. The house is at its most skeletal form.

This is a poem about depression. The central character is a fiction - most of her experiences and emotions are all my own. Fortunately my own saving voice has always spoken up before I left my bed.

Sit there. Just sit there. Patience. Sit and wait For all the lines and furrows To make your face your face. Wait for the arthritis To set your bones in place.

something always turns up...

Tesco Value carrot stick parcels Sit in my fridge like judgemental delicate hearts

To be a newbie at ABC...

Food