to a high number of years,
we say: "It's a good innings",
a judgement and a compliment, I suppose.
Mrs Winnall, 93 years,
sadly, tragically, incomprehensibly dead
from a savage beating
as she slept in her own bed.
We saw the picture of her face,
the black and blue bruises,
that no soft-soap psychological or social analysis
explains or excuses.
No platitudes, no curt phrases will do,
no worn out old cricketing term,
this happened on our watch, people,
and we should do a lot more than squirm.
We should do more.
But will we?