The Matron

—Poetry by Snigdha Agrawal,
Bangalore (Karnataka), India

—Illustrations Courtesy of Public Domain 

THE MATRON’S RULE

Of wiry frame, a face so stern,


tightly permed curls; never got undone


A rigid nest, home for nits


on a head that forever swivelled
Her breath? Smelt of drain leakage


probably gin and cheap cigarettes


Yet no nun dared to call her bluff


Perhaps their noses had had enough
Oh, but she ruled with devil’s glee


Her shadow stretched from A to Zee


Thursday nights? A dreaded fate…


Two black pills served with hate
"Down the throat!" her voice decreed


"A cleanse to purge your sinful greed!"


And should you dare to roll your eyes


Your dose would double; no mercy
The toilets groaned; girls stood outside


Legs crossed, fists clenched tight 


And Matron? Smirking in her chair,


Confident justice had been fair.
But whispers spread, a tale was spun...


One night, her reign came all undone
A bottle of gin put on display
“Now where did you get that”, she exclaimed
Apoplectic with rage

Peace was signed in good faith
No more black pills on Thursday nights

 

 

 

MATRON’S WRATH

A parcel tossed, a vile surprise,


Putrid rags to sting her eyes


She fumed, she raged, she swore out loud


Who dared defy her, bold and proud?
Like a hound on duty sworn


She stormed into the girls’ dorm


Sniffing sheets, a ghastly quest


To root out rebels, curse the rest
"Line up, now! Against the wall!"


Her voice, a thunderous, shrill catcall


"Confess, you fiends, or else you’ll see


What punishment awaits from me!"
The girls stood still, not one confessed,


Their faces masked, their guilt suppressed.


The Matron seethed, her patience thin


And then...
A giggle, a snort—a sneeze set free!


The culprit gasped, "Oh no! Not me!"


From out her sleeve, the rags slipped down


A stinking proof—a traitor’s crown!
The Matron froze, then burst into laughter,


"Well played, my dear!"  


Clutching her sides, the rage now spent,


"Next time—just gift me peppermint!"
Her sense of humour at play

 

 

 

 

 

MATRON’S GUEST

Lights out, dorm dark
Three girls out of bed crawled
To check what was the noise
Coming from the Matron’s room
Dead sure, there was a guest within
On tiptoe, ears to the door


Giggling, hiccups, stifling laughs


A deep voice crooned, a slurred romance,


"Sinclair, my love, let’s have one more dance!"
Through the keyhole, what a sight


The Matron twirling, head full of curls!


Her mystery man, all charm and gin,


Spun her round with a wobbly grin.
Then…CRASH! the lamp took a fall,


"Oops!" he slurred, not right at all!


The girls fled back to their beds
The next day gossip spread
Matron was having an affair

Guess who?
Solomon…The school chef.

 

 

 

 

MATRON LAID TO REST

One day she didn’t turn up
to lead the nightly prayers
No Our Father filled the air
Instead came June, dull and square
with unpermed black hair
smelling of Yardley Talcum

Dorm girls whispered, “Where’s old Sin?”


(Sinclair, of course—but ‘Sin’ fit in)


Lights out! They crept to the keyhole


Matron’s room was locked
Odd for sure
No blankets ruffled, no ciggy haze,


No half-smoked butts in her tray


No hacking cough, no whiskey breath


Matron had met a poetic death.
She’d OD’d on her black pills


Purged her guts, then caught the chills


Drenched in rain


Pneumonia clutched her wheezing chest
In the school cemetery, laid to rest

But there was no respite
from the little pills of black charcoal
Her spirit roamed the corridors
Dropping black pills on pillows
Thursday nights when
lights were switched off

Old habits die hard!

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

A synonym is a word you use when you can’t spell the other one.

—Baltasar Gracián

_____________________

 

—Medusa, thanking Snigdha Agrawal for her fine poetry today on this, the Ides of March. Snigdha’s latest book, Fragments of Time (Memoirs), is available on Amazon at
https://www.amazon.com/Fragments-Time-Memoirs-SNIGDHA-AGRAWAL/dp/B0DWS9KGFS/.

 

 

 

 Fragments of Time

by Snigdha Agrawal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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