The Kindness of Strangers

I

Pete cuts my bread roll

butters it, and

spreads the marmalade.

I expect you’re not supposed to do this, I say.

No, but... I think

If it was me

I would want someone to do it for me.

My eyes fill,

tears run down my face,

and drip onto my plate.

Pete looks so anxious - that I lie

 I’m fine, I say

It’s just the pain in my arm.

He moves on to the next bed.

I cried - because

this man I do not know

was kind to me.

II

My Weetabix comes in a plastic bowl,

the yellow wrapper bright and shiny.

Brenda unwraps it for me.

I went to town on Friday, she confides,

and bought some new boots.

Milk is sloshed onto the Weetabix

islands marooned in a white sea.

They’re brown suede

and have lovely stitching ‘round the top.

I nod

Got them cheap I did ‘cos they were last year’s style,

they couldn’t sell them - too tight they were on people’s calves.

I’ve got lovely slim calves, she says

raising the hem of her uniform to show me.

They’ve got furry lining

so I won’t have to wear tights with them.

I start spooning my cereal - now sloppy

in its white disposable bowl.

Tea or coffee? Brenda asks me

wielding the giant teapot over the cups

Tea, I say.

Half price they were, she continues, a real bargain.

She looks pleased.

Brenda stirs my tea for me,

and places it in reach

You’re trouble you are, she says - and winks.

She moves her trolley on to the next bed

Tea or coffee?

© Sylvia Perry

From A Kindness, published by Poetry Space Ltd in 2013

Footnote: The ward domestics – “Pete” and “Brenda”