Sat alone in the waiting room
that had green walls
yellow skirting boards
and shiny brown linoleum floor,
to pass the time
I was painting flowers and green leaves
on the second hand white bedroom furniture
Virginia had bought.
The door slammed open
and in came my sister and brother’s respective children,
twelve in all,
I took an instant dislike to them
now that they were big enough to walk, talk and climb on furniture,
rang for the nurse who came and took them away.
My siblings sat opposite me close together as seeking comfort,
that made feel me excluded,
brother wore a fisherman’s cap
that had sardine scales on
and my sister had red office cleaners hand
they looked petrified of their younger brother
who was dressed in a silk suit,
glossy black shoes
and hair combed like an American politician,
to make them feel at ease
I spoke about our childhood
and told familiar anecdotes,
which made them so frightened that they were holding hands.
Resigned I rang the bell
told the nurse to take them into surgery,
by the door brother delivered a final lasting blow to my self esteem
when he said: “You didn’t play a part of our childhood memories.”