Wednesday, 6 March 2013

Fell Asleep at Noon

Now there is a melancholy,
now there is a chill,
now some addled trip reveals
teacher took our babies years.

Redressed the chosen few.
Washing cycles to its end,
wakes us to hang out.
This silence is resounding, pounding.

Fridge looms into view.
Forehead rests on freezing things.
Hello mister always can,
and mister never could.

Age made work superfluous.
What a useless word.
A curious collision scythed
through a humbled mind,
saw a cruet in the thin hands of a boy. 
This house is creaking cold and old and
floorboards smell of dust.
Oil has work to do.
Teacher took our babies years.

Three pm on Monday, they have will to run
and run and bless them on their way.
And we would do that too if we had will.
Hid. Safe. Spouse has life beyond us,
is soothing mental friend
whose partner, they said, leaped (hunting sanity once craved).

Decades slipped away when asses
bray was eight miles loud
across two thousand years.
Teacher took our children,
left back a mighty task.

A mirror in the hallway
is the stranger who resides here.
Hello mister always can,
and mister never could.
How are you our brother, sister, how are you, yourself.

Washing cycles to its end.
This silence is  resounding, pounding.
Could we begin again.

© Noel Loftus

Quinn 'spent €327,000 in year'

Noel Loftus is a member of ward9writers based in Mayo and enjoys very short bursts of inspiration tempered by long periods of work.

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