The Grandmother

She sits alone and smokes a cigarette
Long fingers gnarled and stained with nicotine
A life lived without love but no regret
Content within four walls and rarely seen

A boorish husband was her Lord and Master
Cold and sly he dallied with his women
If only he had died a little faster
His fists now passive, limp within his coffin

But once her hair flowed auburn at her waist
Green eyes absorbing light and life and beauty
She never knew how sour life would taste
The cruellest trick of matrimonial duty

To me, Grandmother had a poor existence
To her, a more than adequate subsistence.