Released from her wheelchair a neighbour takes her out today, not to miss
the floods that struck the town during the night. Like a hempen sack he humps her on his shoulders, out through swamp and sleet, to see burst banks. Neither in days before her MS took over nor since did she ever witness the like.
Emergency squads maul with tackle to carry out makeshift repairs, haul back toppled masonry to stand in for collapsed buttresses of the ancient bridge.
To rest, for she is awkward and heavy to bear, he settles her down
on a sandbag close to the canteen where helpers distribute butties, pour instant coffee into chipped china cups.
Her eyes tire after a while, she drifts into a dream where she becomes
one of the helpers.
café on the moon
sugar cubes that resist
going into cups
Then there is a lady, really and truly pressing her on the shoulder, bending over her and asking, "Would like to come and help us, dear? With the washing up?"