LIFE’S LOST SOMETHING-OR-OTHER

RUMINATIONS

The world is full of poets
And most of them know it
Rhyming couplets with fucklets
Never thinking ‘dark chocolates’
Most of them over some visionary hill
Buying notebooks they will never fill
Looking for loves lost something-or-other
Or wondering why they never hated their mother.
Oh yes, a poet’s life is thankless
Almost as bad as a life lived wankless

THE REMOVAL MEN

THE REMOVAL MEN

She sat huddled on the wall by her front door

More scarecrow than human being

Her dog cuddled on her knees

Looking at nothing; the sun-kissed morn unseen.

Her inner world was hers alone

Who knows what her dreams were?

She, who had passed many a word with me,

Now looked at me as if I was a stranger

Which I was, standing on her sun-dappled steps:

She didn’t know me from days of yore,

I don’t think she even knew herself any more.

The puzzlement on her face was evidence of that,

As the men dodged round her

Carrying her belongings in black bags

To the waiting car.

She was a child again,

A lost child;

A few months ago she was lively and bright

Chattering inanely about this and that

About how the seagulls carried away her cat.

Now she tottered along, clutching at the railings for support

Walking her dog

And sometimes forgetting to come back.

She watches the men now,

Their loading almost complete.

And as they move towards her

There is puzzlement, almost defiance, in her  face

Who are you, and why are you taking  all this stuff from my place?