she couldn’t go to rehab the cat needed to be fed
she’d go next week when the sky would be blue
when the delicate hues of green
could be seen among the trees
and the baby smiled silently in the crib
she couldn’t start the treatment cos she’d bought that piece of steak
she’d start on the first when the rabbits jump in threes
when the number she was waiting for
leapt out the frying pan
and the puppy licked the bone contentedly
she realised she’d never get well or get clean
listening to Marianne Faithful whilst dusting empty bottles
she slumped into the chair as she
dived into further depression
and more bottles that were empty cried quietly for her
she was a dirty little maggot so the neighbours said last week
to all the journos and anyone who’d listen
dead for days with no way
of telling cos she smelt rotten anyways
and the baby, cat and pup died too
