Photo by Tatiana Colhoun on Unsplash

Sitting and drinking about how I feel
Realising, fully, stupidities are real;
Clichéd clap-trap envelopes the airwaves:
Subtlety denied, charisma crucified. 
Virtue-signalling flayed. 
Contradictions unrecognized. Yes!
Can I believe two mutually exclusive
Events occur at the same moment, 
Indifferent decades, indifferent continents?
Off course, I can! 
Seen it on Netflix. 
Who do you think I am?
I can hardly speak but I will try.
My brain falls silent, still;
It is the dying of the light
When a ferment of tenses
Lead up many cul de sacs.
Lingering, a moonlight-figure
Mirrors the sparkling frost,
She’s gone but never lost.
Suspicious of the silence offered
Outside, all is wild, sky, the colour of blood,
Soaks up all I left, once, years ago,
On a barge meandering down a river
On a bright mid-summer morn
I hear peals of girlish laughter
Echo from the banks.
Passing under metal bridges, ladies
Quiver their parasols, men in top hats,
Like well-paid actors in a film about rivers,
Over balance and fall into the water,
One after another, as if this was a deliberate
Act of mass suicide. Which it is.
Bodies splash into the sweet scent
Of grass newly cut and just
Forty-two years old and gloriously confused
She removes her shoes and happily remembers
That wildfires can’t be bought or sold
And so, her yearning, is born again, 
Time, as if unused, passes.

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