Jack And Aggie Poem by Colm Flanagan

In the kitchen
he does not see
his wife crouched
in her creased leather chair,
its back against the wall,
arm against the stove.
His eyes, black and blank.

Damp and noisily he bites
through his cut of bread and jam.
His close false teeth
pull back his lips as he chews
each heavy mouthful.
The window behind him
lets in a milky grey light.

The room is still.
The fridge hums.
Its sound sinks to the
black linoleum.

This kitchen,
its substance,
its air,
is infected by her memories
of him.

She eyes her husband
In his stiff chair
With his back to the window
And his head towards the door.