I had hoped that in sixty years
or so, we would be sitting quietly
in awful floral armchairs, sipping
weak tea. Holding the morning's
papers, I would wait
for yout to finish the crossword
so I could stop pretending to read
about someone somewhere saying something,
and do the sudoko instead. As I
waited, I would glance around at frozen
moments - weddings, children, grandchildren -
pinned as pictures around our walls;
I would listen to the clock ticking off the time
we had to be quiet and still and calm.

But instead,
I sti here alone,
listening to the clock ticking off the time
to cry.