Dinner In Bed

One by one
the dumplings shove into your mouth
and clog up the pipe hole

without enough room to cut the pieces down to size
I watch quietly as your face turns a pretty shade of red
(remember the poppies in your mother’s garden?)

finger-fed;
you had hours to notice the grubby thumbs
dirtied by the way I live

but you greedy little thing!

now it’s too late
as your eyes roll back in your head
and your body falls limp to the floor

I prop you back on the pillows
slide up against your neck
and grin at the mess that I have made