Look, he said.
The past is a worship of
ephemera
The future asks you to live for it.
Live for it, he thought
Staring from the sockets that windowed
the reality to which he was subscribed
The reflection looked back but said nothing
Reflections don’t understand
Start now, he said
See, a line engraved under everything that once was
His reflection grimaced, gnashed it’s teeth
the mirror’s glass a cage to this beast
Optimism covers me
a charity shop coat
of memories
others’ success and
lives
already won
but it, ill fitting and
stained
is shrugged off
to be put
to one side
The world turned slowly to the
grandfather’s clock
each hour or half marked
by a chime, cake, or both
and tea
for today will always be Sunday
a time to discuss the
latest deaths
of those we once knew,
and the current wrongs of the world
Start as you mean to go on
they say
but surely
change is as good as a rest?
and anyway
today, I’m tired
Admire nature
Pick up stones, sticks
buckets of water from the sea
Drive for miles to look at the view
conveniently placed
by a cafe
serving nature’s best
chips
and ice cream
Leave footprints and
warm breath, but
take home memories
enough for a lifetime
or at least, until the
end of the day
What are you doing?
Not much. Sitting.
Oh
Yes?
I wrote a poem about feet
Feet?
Yes. Seemed like a
TREAT?
No. Too obvious. Just a way to avoid defeat.
If I was to squeeze
your foot
like a tube of toothpaste
the insides would come out
a podiatry pate
from the big toe
But
I wouldn’t clean my
teeth with it
the taste
of foot in mouth
being all wrong
The cat circling
mine and your legs
begs
Food, please
shouting with
eager purrs, and
then
a view of its tail
Tears return
as we all will
to the ocean
Look ahead, and
the future erases the now
in two hundred years
these words
and
the many that have
surrounded them
will be lost, memories only
to dead lovers
friends and acquaintances
a lifetime past and
forgotten
The normals in the
pound shop
hedge their bets with
masks over
mouths and
noses out, sniffing
the air for signs that
the virus has gone
True protection
the kind that satisfies
comes from
plastics and sugar
the bright colours of
diabetic and sweat-shop delights
distracting
until the world is put right
by discussions online