The lift jams at some floor,
with the bell’s battery run down.
The wall-clock’s at a permanent half-past two,
and a sound cassette’s turning soundlessly.
My mother, over ninety,
feels she’s faltering in a weird space.
‘So this is how people
just sway away into other worlds, is it?’ she says.
And I try to sustain her.
But apparently we’re still here.