The Straw
She can’t find the straw
It wobbles in search of
Her mouth she wants to draw
The liquid of life but coughs
Unable to find the straw
It used to come so easily
But now it’s all too raw
The red, white stripes measly
The crippling helplessness
Of her search seems
To prolong her senseless
Suffering
The colour seems slightly
Richer as she finds;
That straw and lightly
Gulps otherwise blind
Is this wise?
What else, is left?
Worth prolonging? The size
Of the straw seems bereft
Why does it feel then?
That she doesn’t belong
Despite her state when
Nothing is well and life
Seems much too long
The straw twists red and white
Away from her far then close
Life is held out of sight
Much too close to her nose
