Rosalie

Old Rosalie can’t help but be amused
By Beth, who is as always so enthused
By meditation and by mindfulness:
‘Oh Ros, it’s changed my life!’ she says. ‘Well, bless,’
Thinks Ros, amazed by just how fervently
Beth labours at developing her chi.
And with what gusto she explains the fun
Of doing salutations to the sun.
‘That might suit some, but it is not for me,’
Says practical, unmystic Rosalie.
‘Seek out the secrets of my inner self?
I’d rather take a book down from the shelf.’

While Beth sits cross-legged, emptying her mind,
Muttering a mantra in the hope she’ll find
An inner stillness, staring at a wall,
Discovering (or so she thinks) the All,
Ros reads Jane Austen, or perhaps will go
With Reacher to the wilds of Idaho,
Tread fearfully through Gilead, or, better,
Stride through Virginia’s morgues with Kay Scarpetta.
Or sometimes, when she’s feeling less than super,
She’ll curl with cocoa and a Jilly Cooper.
Especially when her life has been most hectic,
Her reading matter’s always been eclectic.
Young Ros solved mysteries with the Famous Five,
Loved Little Women and felt most alive
When reading (and re-reading) Ballet Shoes.
Then, adolescent, tempted by the blues,
Ros found an antidote to teen despair
By revelling in the works of Georgette Heyer.
Her reading stays with her, so that her mind
Is packed with people; it is where you’ll find
The plucky students of the Chalet School
Mixing with Sherlock Holmes and Widmerpool.
Whatever kind of habit books might be,
They do not keep her short of company.

Last year, just after she’d enjoyed Wolf Hall,
She thought of Beth, who gazed at her blank wall,
And shook her head, and smiled as though to say:
‘Well, Beth must get through life in her own way.
But when Tim died, it’s books I had to thank
That life was not just staring at a blank.’

George Simmers

If you have any thoughts about this poem, George Simmers  would like to hear them.