Last Rites
She went to Boots from habit, selecting Rimmel
because neither woman had ever touched the brand.
A man led her into the grisly Santa’s Grotto,
then reassuringly stood sentinel.
At first sight, shock, her mother appeared to have
been snatched by grave robbers.
She would never have chosen to be seen dead in
the elaborate white funeral gown.
The daughter’s final duty now to protect her from
prying eyes that might pay a peep show visit.
Striking up a one sided conversation, like a
hairdresser with a darkly quiet client,
she forced her fingers to dab the make up on, tolerating
the clammy, stiffened flesh for only a few minutes.
This time the cosmetic alchemy failed to conjure
up her face, casting instead the indelible image
that her mother had sunk into a profound sulk.
