Blind.

“To see”

My mum squints

into a book

And says

“Its a horrible thing

To go blind, Ben.”

On the patio my cat

Walks along a pylon

The television

shows the news

of the dead

in a some backwater

country

on the east coasts.

D’Arne smiles at

me from the kitchen

as she stirs

the bubbling and red

pasta sauce.

There is no

more beer

in the fridge.

I think about a letter

Being sent to the dead

A letter that

That will roam

In the post

forever.

I tell me mum

It’s a horrible thing

Being able

To see.