'It Was The Middle Of Winter In Purgatory' Poem by Marty McKenna

it was the middle of winter in purgatory
as the staff called it.
there was only a thin blanket on the death bed.
the heat was on twenty-four, seven.

it all changed. red was the colour of the day,
if i looked at red i was safe; my blod clot day.
strawberries were the only thing i could eat
down in the oasis.

one of the elders from heaven,
seated at the head of the table, colourless;
when i sat down beside her
she recounted a hazardous day

recited directly from my diary.
i firstly wondered how, secondly
accepted her warning, limp.

kieran with a k, ciaran with a c
had me reassess my loyalties,

all i can hear are my footsteps now,

clicking a rhythm to the hum of her black refrigerator.
just might break my thirst over the head of it.


first published in 'antipoetry'
appeared in the chapbook 'gently but a dream'