Poem

Waiting room blues

It’s the smell of it…
Bleach and anti tobacco air freshener
Wafting under unplucked nostrils
Encouraging sneezes to dole out lurghee

From the middle aged man in the black cotton suit
shuffling uncomfortably
To the crazy bag lady from number forty three
Still hollering at the receptionist for losing her forms

It takes all sorts

They wander in
and out of this hive of necessity
Swaddled in winter clothes to stave off the cold
Even though its twenty degrees outside
Yet little good it does them
When seated in the cramped sweat box of a room
Accidentally being coughed on by pensioners
And touched by sticky fingers
stretched out from ridiculously large pushchairs
Tiny lungs piercing ear drums
A generic wince shared by all.

Gaming night: The Aftermath

‘I’ll leave you fighting your demons’
an irony that’s not wasted on me
The white grenache drips
from the lip of the bottle
as I shake the remnants
Careful not to waste a drop

We were once a ballad
you and I
a couple to be envied
So in sync and never apart
Out of choice though
Both yours and mine

Yet shared wine becomes solo
Minds working on differing levels
just as in games
We each fight our own battles
but standing apart
Different platforms – different worlds

‘It doesn’t matter’ you persist
We share the same space
Yet I have never felt further
from you – from the truth
I am more aligned with this bottle
Once filled with joy – now just an empty husk

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It hangs

In the balance between

You and I

The empty air of silence

All those words left unsaid,

about the elephant,

and whose room he’s in, and why?

Tiny pockets crammed with conviction

Suit jackets lined with lies.

Yet still, we tiptoe

Between discarded clothes and comments

Barbed by hatred, hidden by love.

Such fickle creatures

We live by the moonlight of tenacity.