Katherine Braithwaite Poet Villanelle

The Tower of the Old Folk

Living in my bedsit in the tower of  the old folk
Watching television, I heard somebody speak
A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke

I think I am invisible, I wear a  dust grey  cloak
Maybe I’m a loser; my bones already creak
Living in my bedsit in the tower of  the old folk

Noone  here can touch me, now maybe they will joke
But my heart is feeling empty and I know I am a freak
A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke

The council can’t afford replacements for any mugs I broke
I see a few  young people  drinking coffee  in the street
Weeping in my bedsit in the tower of  the old folk

If I tried to drown myself no doubt I would just float
When I go to a farm shop, the sheep  won’t stop to bleat
A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke

I am serving my life sentence, but it seems incomplete
I can only walk ten yards, arthritis in my feet
Living in my bedsit in the tower of  the old folk
A robot did my cleaning, the dumb thing never spoke

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