bmw

bmw

 

the sun

casts its shape

across your lounge

dusty china and

faded photographs

a radiator key

you no longer understand

 

your arrival

grander now

than the milky tea

and coop sandwiches

forgetting each time

that ham

is not her favourite

 

the woman

who carried you

held and nurtured you

is fading into her armchair

sun bleached and whiskery

badly buttoned clothing

no longer a good fit

 

she has less to say

telling you about the dog next door

three times in an hour

you tell her about torque

and leather seats

and she thinks about her husband

who lives in the ground

 

you could take her to visit

unwrap supermarket flowers

together

you tell her about 0-60

and the stereo

as she wonders

when you’ll ask about her

 

when you leave

she forgets you’ve been

before Bargain Hunt

gazing wistfully at royal plates

she can no longer reach

you forget before

you’ve hit third gear