Seating Arrangements

They sit where they always sit . . .

         Seating Arrangements




They sit where they always sit.
Habit is all.
They have each their proper place,
The old ladies, ranged around the room
In that great circle, staring straight ahead.
Sunlight slides over them, time scours
Their faces into anonymity
Minutes and hours accumulate in drifts,
Condensing into weeks, months.  Years.
While from the corner ever sounds
The television's inane yammering.
If they could move
If even one could choose a different chair
Give the kaleidoscope a sudden shake
Might they then waken, look around
Recognise each other, and themselves,
Even start to squabble, and remember
That they were human once?  But no.
They sit where they always sit.