Crash

the kettle sings loudly 

and clicks off

water ready to make a brew

delivered thoughtfully and sincerely

into the lounge

to the table in front of the TV

with a smile

 

and then

back to the kitchen

explosive tears

jetting into clenched hands

face jammed against the cold sink

gut screaming –

What songs there were to sing!

Plays to act!

Students to teach!

Words to write!

 

breast muffled

someone might hear this anguish

such gulping crashing agony

as the telly drones a room away

and spoon tinkles into cup

 

‘I have done nothing.

I do nothing.

I AM NOTHING!’

 

no wisdom of reason

is adequate

to assuage such grief

as the telly drones a room away

and cup clicks back on saucer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas

 

 

◄ Metaphor

Sleep ►

Comments

Profile image

Ann Foxglove

Thu 24th Oct 2013 17:03

Good poem Cynthia!

Profile image

Thomas J Steele

Thu 24th Oct 2013 11:13

That is strong Cynthia, very powerful words, and I very much enjoyed it.

Profile image

barrie singleton

Tue 22nd Oct 2013 02:15

Are you licensed to use such a dangerous weapon Cynthia? Popped in to thank you for kind comments I left hanging, a few years back.
Have a hug.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message