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The Last Words Of My English Grandmother

 There were some dirty plates
and a glass of milk
beside her on a small table
near the rank, disheveled bed—

Wrinkled and nearly blind
she lay and snored
rousing with anger in her tones
to cry for food,

Gimme something to eat—
They're starving me—
I'm all right I won't go
to the hospital.
No, no, no Give me something to eat Let me take you to the hospital, I said and after you are well you can do as you please.
She smiled, Yes you do what you please first then I can do what I please— Oh, oh, oh! she cried as the ambulance men lifted her to the stretcher— Is this what you call making me comfortable? By now her mind was clear— Oh you think you're smart you young people, she said, but I'll tell you you don't know anything.
Then we started.
On the way we passed a long row of elms.
She looked at them awhile out of the ambulance window and said, What are all those fuzzy-looking things out there? Trees? Well, I'm tired of them and rolled her head away.

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