She used to win prizes in quizzes
held at the golf club. I remember
us standing together on the club-house steps
enjoying a cigarette in the interval
between spelling or sports and a round
on world affairs – polite, at ease, well-dressed
looking up at the stars as though with a touch
we could halt the turning globe.
One night, not six months later, she arrived
at the doctor's wearing a dressing gown,
shuffled along the hall past the waiting-room door
in cornflower blue brushed nylon with satin trim.
Patients in sweaters and sports coats,
trainers and polished brogues looked down at
their magazines, nervous of seeing her reaching
for rescue like a swimmer caught in a rip,
of hearing out of that wild remorseless current
questions never admitted at the club.