February (DOA)

There are four place settings in my memory
and the smell of lethal pies.
Bread and butter piled high on the same
Willow patterned plates which defined her.
Apple turnovers which went uneaten.

To be honest, her heart had stopped long before-
a single glass of cider changed everything.
Suddenly a mum-
and worse- a wife.
Her life came unstuck as her mother said it should.

Inside she was a rebel
would vote LibDem if anyone cared to look.
When she was diagnosed told us
she wanted to die.
Two fingers up at the life she never wanted.

My feminst icon-
an aged housewife who was DOA.