On the Offering of
News
Silenced,
hands clasped
waiting for direction
or judgement.
A downward gaze out of
respect
and a little fear.
Life was less fraught
than this, once,
and more stressful at
others.
The skin of her hand
itches
the base of her thumb
where the scar reminds
her of Twitchy,
her sister's rabbit
fifty years ago,
she wants to scratch
it.
Can't.
Curls her toes instead.
Her mind wanders until
she recognises a lull in speech.
Aural memory fills in
the blank
and she bobs a curtsey.
The relief floods her
bladder
She wants a wee
but duty is not done.
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