Heated towels.

I need a heated towel.
Not a radiator.
Not a heated towel rail.
Not even a tumble dryer
or a steaming iron.
I need a heated towel.
I need to wrap myself
in warmth to thaw this
chill.
I need a body towel.
Heated.
Not warm or tepid.
Heated.
To ease the cold spasms
of my aching body.
It needs a hood with satin
pull cords to ensure
the heat stays in.
I’ll need a catheter.
Once hot I refuse to remove
not even to wee.
One day the cold damp
of Britain will kill me.
I need to move.

Karen Hayward ©2016

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