I wrote two letters to you Z. just in case.
Sad news. It was hoped G
would rally under the new
treatment. It was hoped the light
would glimmer in her eyes
once more like two stars. It was hoped
I would not stand by her graveside,
delicately lay her favourite flowers
on the cold grey stone. Her son
says he will never wear his Union
Jack suit again. He says “It’s betrayed
him.” He did not want to be independent
of his mam. She was his certainty.
The rains have started again. We have
a loose tile. H says it is a faulty baffle.
The Polish deli sent flowers
and a get well card. Nicely done.
PS Gonna slap that bloke with wheelbarrow coffin silly. Knock the bastard into next week.
Dearest, dearest Z,
Blessings come few and rare. The new
treatment worked. She’s in remission.
Her son, the terrorist clown says
he has lot of stuff to work through
with her. Life is not going to be easy.
He says he betrayed her trust.
The rains have stopped. Thank Christ.
We can get replace the absent mortar between the bricks
and get the askew guttering
straightened out. Thank God G
is fine, if not G as in Great.
PS Seems wheelbarrow coffin bloke