Have We Had Easter Yet?

'Who are you?' asks my mother.
'If you're looking after me
I ought to know your name.'

I show her me when I was small,
A faded photograph.
'That's Bobbins,' she says instantly.

'I wonder where she is, she never comes to see me.'
I go away. To get my mother's lunch.
'How good it looks. Please thank the cook.'

Later I find it in the bin.
'I didn't know who cooked it,
So I had those custard creams.'

She smiles at me with muddled eyes
And says my name,
Then struggles off on shaky legs,

Looks for her stick,
Opens the outside door,
Calls home dead dogs.

Alison Pryde, Have We Had Easter Yet? (Peterloo Poets, 1998)