The Word Cloud

Vera
The faded water colour
Eagles talons, gnarled
False teeth
Lose grin
Breath some foul cigarettes
and gin


Selling your soul for the shelter
and a Christmas gift for a small child.

Vera was left behind
The brightly colured ballroom
Sisters asked to dance
Their pretty faces flushed with wine.
Asked to private functions
...and to dine.

The ugly duckling
The maiden Aunt
Well she has money
At least she has money
A comfortable hag.

They don’t talk to her anymore
Or remember where she lives
Those happily married’s
With kids
And grand kids.

She talks to him like he is her son
An old friend.
‘beer?’
He wants this over
That train to London
Just to be out of here.

He won’t kiss
What she’s never known she can't miss
At least he is here
Her hero through gin mist.