Mrs Tinkledrip's Demise Poem by Terry Collett

Mr Alfreds was saddened
by Mrs Tinkledrip's demise.

She had the two rooms
along the hall from his.

She had music playing
from some old gramophone

most of the day, old dance music,
foxtrots, tangos, waltzes and all

and he was sure he could hear
her footsteps some days

along the floor, tap taping
and soft shuffling.

Mr Alfreds went
and painted her kitchen

a bright blue in 1932,
and papered her parlour

in a flowered design
in August 1939.

Sometimes he stayed for lunch,
and they’d chat

about the good old days,
nibble sandwiches,

and sip warm tea.
Mr Alfreds knocked

her door the fatal day;
the music played

on and on
the same old tune.

He got no answer
to his rapping;

he thought
she was napping

and went away.
They found her dead

and cold next day,
sitting by the window

staring into death domain,
while outside came

the gentle pitter-patter
of slow rain.