Long Range Forecast

A poem by Judy Brown.

In deep old age I plan to potter in a garden flat
just down the road, to stumble from room to room;

or outside, patting the swollen trees, survivors of pollard
and amputation – grown cactus-squat and cautious.

My ankles will be the same: fat and pillowy, bone’s
true story hidden beneath the soft anecdotage of fluid,

a long time telling. People write books so quickly now.
From mid-life I’ll be ready with tissues and paracetamol –

small cures for the long haul. Menthol to chill the pulse
points. Ginger for sickness at sea, and on land. 

Tags:poetry