Old Mary Poem by Catherine Casey

Many still look
Through habit up there,
Flat fifty-six,
Though Mary’s not there.

The street’s not the same
Since her passing last week.
None mourning, yet missing
Her particular streak.


No curtain, no wave,
No asking of days.
In short she gave
In her own paraphrase.


She married too soon
And lived on her own.
Dementia took hold,
Most relatives flown.


Two decades she lifted
The curtains to stare,
On a world full of rushing
While still in her chair.


'What day is it? Monday! Eh? '
Ditto times four.
The requisite answer
Inciting her more.

Oft’ she opened the window
To call passers-by.
‘Get us some smokes
From’ shop, ’ was her cry.


Her carer brought chocolate
But the taste wasn’t right.
Passing to children
As it dropped from a height.


A wave for all comers
And goers the same;
The postman, the school run,
The man with the cane.


A rap on the window
If by per chance,
Any new strangers
Were missing her glance.


Some even say
That the dogs gave a nod,
While passing her way.
Don’t look, you daft sod!


Agoraphobia and deafness;
The scourge of her years,
Brought neighbours to rattle
Her door and her fears.

‘TURN IT DOWN! ’ cried the man
On the nightshift with rage.
‘You scoundrel. I’ll have ya.
My torment, your wage? ’


Head in her hands
Those days of dismay
Season to season
Ebbing slowly away.


A grandson demanding
Of wealth ill-presumed
Sought frequent redress
With abuse as he fumed.


Absconded from bail
The bruises he dealt.
An old hag to him.
No feelings he felt.


Yet there it was
Of common charity
A wave to all
Despite the disparity.


A mind on the fail,
A life wasted to others,
Still greeting all souls
As familiar as brothers.

And then she was gone
To a home ‘cross the town
Incontinence taken
Clearance workers to frown.


Not long after
A turn for the worse,
Was taken one night,
Vultures raced for her purse.


Relatives swarmed to
A will of pretence.
The sofa was ripped
Only change..fifty pence.


Who is to say,
Looking back on the way,
If an angel did prompt her
A last wave to pay.


The odd thing being;
People still expect,
As a sign of the normal
A bit of neglect.


So if in the corner
Or blink of an eye,
You imagine a figure
To wave from the sky.


It’s most likely Mary
In spirit for now,
New family and friends,
A beauty, and how!