The End

Poem about dying alone.

THE END

Abandoned on the doorstep
The “ welcome” mat gathers moss.
Unread newspapers hang
Limply from the letterbox

An old lady lies dead and alone
Dying needlessly, too poor to have a phone
Decaying on torn lino, her burial place
Already blow flies have laid eggs on her face

If she could see herself now, rotten and dead
If she could speak to us would she have said?
“What was the point in my life if there’s
Not one person who notices or cares that I’m dead”

Her body bloats and bursts as she decomposes more
Once vital fluids leak and stain the surrounding floor
At last the presence of flies and putrid smell
Brings someone to ring with reluctance on the bell

She is spooned and scraped into a well used body bag
Identified by false teeth found in her handbag.
Her cheap cardboard coffin is cremated unobserved
No flowers, no hymns no nice words.

THE END.