Red

The red sky is a warning

that I choose to ignore 

leaving the yellow umbrella you gave me 

in the stand with the old walking stick

that belongs to someone I no longer know

outside the wren sounds 

her teakettle alarm

loud and red and insistent as the stamps

on all the overdue bills 

left piling up on your desk

and just as I reach the hospice the rain starts

I’ve painted my lips like a letterbox

so I can let all the kindnesses people offer 

slip soundlessly through the slot 

to be returned at a later date

a bit like your overdue library books

you are nestled in the over large bed

like a Christmas walnut  

as I lay down next to you your breath stills

and I’m left alone 

listening to the dull rhythm of the rain beating me

inside and out