Portrait

 

Portrait

 

The wind waves.

 

We have hello’s

And goodbyes.

 

We rest by the river,

Watching the boats

Glide over glass.

 

The boys never

Did well at school.

 

Everything is orange,

And we cannot know

If the sun is bleaching

The leaves, or if

The night washes

Away the colour

In melancholy  

Shades of grey.

 

Women cough into

Handkerchiefs,

And the men try to

Remember their

Suitcases – leaving

Them beside the door

But always missing

Them as they step

Outside to catch

The train.

 

The rain washes

Down the windows.

 

We carve at the dust

Swirling in the living room,

And it dances

Better than you think

You could.

 

She calls her friend

To talk about television,

How faces have changed,

And how the new man

In the house doesn’t

Care for slippers;

Walking around

In a dressing gown

All day.

 

‘How many years

Has it been?’ she says,

And the clock

Tick-tick-ticks on

The mantelpiece

To remind her that

She’s wasting time

Better spent moving

Her hands in repetitive

Circles for wads

Of green paper that

Never seemed to last.

 

The fog horn

Was too loud.

 

And tomorrow

Was always too far

Away.

 

 

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◄ Somnambulance

Automatics ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (8730)

Fri 5th Aug 2011 10:29

I like the reference to hankerchieves....

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