She sat across the room from me
on a faded floral armchair.
It covered in plastic,
wrinkling when she leaned
forward to encompass her cup
lovingly filled with tea.
Sipping silently the sugary mix
she turned her waxy face
towards the picture window
as if she could pull back
the curtains of time.
She smiled yellow at me
when she brought forth
her past in faded words
like old photographs
taken from the box hidden
under the stares of cobwebs.
Sometimes she’d tell me
stories of her youth and
her determination to teach
physical education which
mocked and giggled at her
now frail body wrinkling
in the faded floral armchair
covered in plastic
sitting across the room from me.
Sometimes she’d fart
as people sometimes do
She’d laugh and say,
“Pardon me, I’ve had a
passing of the wind.”
My eyes would water
my shoulders would shake
my snickers could not be contained.
Together we’d sit there
chortling over bodily functions
relinquishing control of time.