All was lost on a daily basis:

she believed that there must be a thief

who was stealing for other faces

in need of spectacles and teeth.

 

The nocturnal feast went unfinished,

a weak bladder and toothless gums

left lipstick stains on the Guinness

and a trail of biscuit crumbs

 

to the inco pad down the toilet

and a pool of piss on the ground.

The baby alarm has gone silent

and her knitting is all unwound

 

around a false breast on the carpet

that's unwholesome to the touch;

here's her diary with the targets

that she'll miss so very much.

 

She had a Flanagan and Allen,

but she preferred The People's Friend 

and watching Britain's Got Talent:

she never made it to the end.