Carol Rogers





An unkempt face and dribbling

jowls; not in the least fastidious

about leaky gravy or wayward soup.

Threadbare knickers, careworn

slippers, impossibly wrinkled

stockings; wanting in decency and

pride. A toothless, bashed-in smile,

because dentures have gone AWOL;

sneaked off in the night while

no one was looking out for the

Steradent on the bedside cabinet.


And this is what she has come to;

the former Head Teacher, leader

of rough-hewn girls - who had

succumbed to the mistress of

etiquette and style. Now, all

day long, she mutters in Latin;

bring me my books, where are my

books? While busy nurses multi-task

the hours, teasing gently, over sorry

garments that had once excelled

in well-groomed classrooms.


©2011 Carol Rogers

Carol would love to hear what you think of her writing - email her now