‘Mrs Mounter’ by Harold Gilman

My cup is empty.  Didn’t take my pill.

I need more tea then.  Pour, please.  Do you mind?

Today I ache; the room is brown and chill,

Save the bright splash of colour straight behind.

I’ve tied this scarf around my head to warm

Both ears and throat.  The fingers in my lap

Feel cold and swollen.  What I crave’s a form

Of central hearing, ecstasy on tap –

But that’s just crazy dreaming.  Here I sit

And watch you slam the kettle on the gas.

This chair is yours, this cup, this jug now lit

By ceiling bulb that makes it glow: not brass,

But magic pitcher blazing, burning gold

To snatch my brown-cased bones from pain and cold.