In a geriatric garden room
dozing with the nearly dead
we hull one hundred pumpkin pips.
The knife slides through the orange flesh
we carve the nose, a spooky face,
our spectators sit transfixed.
My entertaining ten year old
holds the prize aloft and captivates
the crowd, his cheeks burning.
As he charms them, I can only think
maybe he will relive this scene
one day with his own offspring.
And I will watch them, half alive
half of me already on the other side
as outside, autumn leaves fall.
Cake eaten and tea drunk
it’s time to hug my gran goodbye,
as we do, her eyes dull.
(Oct 2013 Dedicated to my wonderful granny x)