Reasons why Fran is grateful for kind people who work in care homes
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB680QS-XYYoXBv7269sHeWx68eE_m3SmpPY8LWtKn4wY48tPJsyg-vaPxsTlk51maPl2g2Va-FkIujBtjxlcfpF-_UFjdAnBzprn2YS7wOnfZvAMI7hyr_pLCI8-g3E-ELLwRRkTn6iEr/s320/Granny+me+and+kids.jpg)
My grandmother is 95. I visit her once a week in a care home. This week, I came away from the visit grateful for some lovely carers who were working with the elderly there in a compassionate and sensitive way. It's not always the case. Before she went to the care home, I used to visit her in her own flat, where she lived alone. Week by week, it was clear that she was deteriorating and would need more care eventually. I wrote this short poem about her at that time in response to the challenge to write a 'list' poem. Any of you who have elderly relatives might find it resonates. And if you like writing poems, trying a list poem is worth doing. Crossed out Stains on your blue cardigan. Hymnal tones of horseracing on the TV. One Hermesetas, lost. Your leg bandaged like a Pharoah's. A teacup, brown around the rim. Crumbs. Discarded news. Blank crossword puzzles. Tablets. Monday. Tuesday. Thursday? Denials of naps. A half-eaten currant bun wra