She's standing with her hands

On her hips. Lips pursed,

Brings her right fist

To her chin

Her arm across her body

The other one tucked

In at the elbow.

She switches poise

In a regimental manner

Military like,

And flicking her index finger

And thumb out to pull

at the corners of her mouth

I start thinking

Of Wolverine,

Or the Bionic Man

If they'd fitted him

With a pair of Swiss Army

Knives instead of hands.

I ask her her thinking

On the suicide of Turd Ferguson

And why she thinks it hasn't been

On the news yet.

She answers:

they don't publicise suicide

And it is then she appears to me

More machine than mother.

This has gone on for 14 years

And that suspicion

hasn't left me since.