The ‘Ness and Red, the El Why and ER.’

 

 

     Earlier this day,

the Robin peered at me expectantly from

     the holly branch,

          glancing towards the empty

garden table, I could only apologize its barren,

               ‘tomorrow,’ I ventured,

     the Robin nodded, then flew.

 

           This night (now the day has hidden again);-

sees I watching the snow fall below the street tree -

     that sheds a pale light,

          mesmerised – my hypnotic state

   requests I be joined by a warming of the throat,

     but, payday has yet to reveal itself whether scowling

          or not.

 

     How long has it been since I reclined this chair,

how long has it been since a string upheld a flurry of

wishes and faintest of tears,

     how long that picture of that year -

   that was all that………..

 

     …….sometimes the flakes are sparse as I watch

them gently descend as if fast could break the Earth,

          watching the delicate manoeuvre between shadows

               of fences and bushes, a change of wind

  can make the journey more interesting for my eyes to glaze.

 

     It has been now ten whole minutes and fifty seconds,

now fifty-five and perhaps a million already

     carpeting the hill to send a hopeful grin upon

          ‘our’ children.

 

     Tomorrow the Robin will apply his smile

and so too, an accompaniment of tartan children

wearing socks as gloves and a ruddy glow of insubordination,-

     ‘it was after all, Mrs Mcdougles linoleum kitchen floor that is now their sled.’

 

     I have a family too I recall as I shake

between tears of ‘why,’

 

          I should be there now with my love,

             planning at least, a global homage

to a wish the World would see her many validate

     each other without a prompt, or document

          of insincerity.

 

     My hearth is now an iron radiator

with a meter to pay,

     my robes of industry to axe the firewood

now slippers and snot sleeved cardigan,

          my finest offering of Troika now

     a Radio 4 show of BBC stubborn that

has a voice I can still hear a thousand years ago,

          ‘he unawares there are others wanting still his shoes of comfort.’

 

     I could put on my boots – still wet

with dubbing I rubbed two weeks ago in apprehension,

          and walk a street tree mile to a centre

   of midnight activity knowing,

     our Christmas of dubious friendships

be just around the next corner but,

     it is my first night here upon this new iron heat,

           my homeless body still reeling from yesterdays cold.

 

          My pale blue eyes look back upon

a haste of mirror, and the coldness of a frantic

painful history has every frame etched ‘frozen’

     all at once,

          like a collage of every horror movie

where the hero has still yet to escape.

 

     As cold becomes my battle while my hands burn,

I know only of one word that I have struggled to find all life,

     a word that has several extensions all proclaiming

          my wish for all;

                  'kind.’

 

Michael J Waite 13th December 2022

 

 hope you all have a great one. xxx