My Albatross and Me
my albatross is an over-stretched suitcase
spilling out stuff I must remember
my albatross was small but she grew like Topsy
now she will not fit back in her box
my albatross is a story, a black and white movie,
a steam train leaving the station
my albatross sits in her motorised chair
and refuses to elevate her legs
my albatross dozes with her nose in her breakfast
but insists that she hasn’t been sleeping
my albatross thinks she is watched through a spy-hole
by the albatross-hunters next door
my albatross is querulous: she has so much to say
my albatross does not like to listen
my albatross records in her trembling hand
my offences in her little black book
my albatross tells people who don’t know me I am clever
but also that I starve and neglect her
my albatross thinks I am twelve years old
my albatross is angry with me
my albatross watches me with hooded eyes
hooks me with one gnarled, arthritic finger
my albatross repeats like a speaking clock
it’s not, it’s not my fault.
Abigail Ottley writes poetry and short fiction from her home in Penzance. Apart from walking with her husband and her little dog, this is her favourite thing to do. Contact via Instagram