Poems - One about a Nan, the other about a dog

Nannas at the bottom of the Stairlift

Nannas at the bottom of the Stairlift
Nannas at the bottom of the stairs
A sea of broken bones, a concerto of moans, and a sea of blue rinse hair
Nanna hit on every runner and smashed n every tread
on her way to the bottom where she's now brown bread

I was missing her already as she tumbled head first
Now I’m on the phone and calling for a hearse
Oh to never be in the care home with people going through her purse
Cos she met her end on the zig zaggy wood she just traversed

Only a matter of time before the relatives arrive
Going through your things in a manner I despise
Who will get the money, and who the carriage clock
And the weirdest of all, you Ken Hom Wok

This was brought for you against advice, but despite this
You couldn’t pick it up because of rheumatoid arthritis

I used to watch the hulk with my nanna, on Saturdays at seven
But now her body is turning green and her soul on its way to heaven
But it won’t be gamma rays that have made her colour turn
Its rigor mortis, decay, the earth and soil and worms

I'll never forget you nanna, and the end that you just met
Do you remember the time you set yourself on fire with that cigarette?
You had fallen asleep watching home and away
The smoke alarm saved you on that faithful day

Nannas gone to heaven where the stairlifts never do this
And I’m left alone with my thoughts of nanna to reminisce
How I miss my nannas night time stories and bed time kiss
I'll never forget her smile, and that smell of putrid, este lauder talc

£17 Injection

Champ and I would play all day my life could get no better
His coat was auburn, and his fur was soft, he was a big red setter
Through fields we'd trample, me and champ'l, run all day and then he'd say
[Dog noises] - ------ - - - - - - - -
I never knew what he meant, with all the barking that he'd lament
But If I could guess what my champ was saying
That he loved me loads, our walks and playing

One day Champ got up and his back legs crumpled,
He tried to walk the poor dog tumbled
I stood there crying as my champ was humbled
In a Renault Espace the poor dog was bundled

To the vets we went, my Dad was racing
A life without champ I was suddenly facing
A vet called Donald began to confer
That Champs oral frothing was dis-tem-per
It was cruel; it was wrong but not natural selection
As the vet pulled out a £17 injection
That price didn't include, the VAT
That was another £4 pounds and 33p

Poor champ was lying on the treatment bed
His poor little life hanging by a thread
I stood and watched and even prayed
As the vet injected between his shoulder blades
He wilted away like a backwards erection
All caused by the man and his £17 injection
That was £21 pounds and 33p,
by the time he had added the vat.