Death’s attendant

She hovers outside the window in short sleeves,
Puffy ankles pushed into sandals,
Oblivious to the mid-winter crispness.
She sucks the life out of her ciggie,
Increasing her lip lines with every draw.
Hair dyed so black it’s almost blue,
Scraped up into a top knot
With white roots and scalp peeping through.
The smell of death oozes from every pore of her chalky skin;
Ill-health throbs from bulging eyes
Encircled with smoky black eye-liner.
She looks on as grieving relatives choose wreaths
And wooden boxes for loved ones,
From laminated images in a plastic ring binder.
Another customer, another smile
Through yellow teeth and crimson lipstick.


© Vicky Newham 2012. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Vicky Newham, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


About Vicky Newham

Vicky Newham is a writer, living in Whitstable, Kent. She writes crime fiction, psychological thrillers and science fiction. Her main projects are novels, but she also writes short stories, flash fiction, non-fiction articles and some poetry.
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3 Responses to Death’s attendant

  1. Hope you had a great Thanksgiving and are in the midst of a great Thanksgiving weekend!

  2. Bart Wolffe says:

    Excellent piece! Perceptive and detailed and original. Really like this poem, Vicky.

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