Poem about a bitter old woman

RELIC

Stolen out of her era to live here,
Of hers but a dim reflection,
She dwells upon nothing
But her own small part in the world :

Hears no drumbeat but the one that propelled her,
Vigorous and thick-blooded,
Through her youth

And, slower now with the years,
Lets her spite take hold,
Driving her to distraction :

She would have them all shot
And civilisation put to rights!
From a harsher age she sets her sights
And fires off all her rages -

"Let the blacks go home!" she cries,
This petal-perfect, shrivelled woman
With the glaring eyes.

This is a poem about a bitter old lady who I once knew, born at the turn of the century, with Victorian values and a seething hatred under her prissy exterior.

Here's a poem by Stephen Dunn about an old and miserable man - His Music

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