In my head, again, - a picture of tomorrow;
subtle, endearing, scary
as if I’ll be attacked (the sky might just collapse);
- go tits up
in a workshop or the meeting, or a bus ride
or the traffic lights at red
engendering a little fear, a fluttering heart
and shortening of breath,
even though I’m sitting up in bed
the night before. My need’s not guts or bravery
but to stay aware, inspired as a baby,
walking steadfast and assured into a mess,
witnessing respect
and do my work - my best.
Many yards they walked
over rough ground - three ducks to
share our bread and wine.
Wobble to the bathroom mirror,
slippers on formica tiles,
(older than they ever were)
stained a little, thin,
look on, and in, there for a hope of
stars or suns and galaxies
more light-years than pronounceable
and way beyond any dancing dust
but, no, I see a face;
misty in the silver, glass,
ancient as my father, yes,
fading now but, yes, with eyes
(retina and iris)
burning still, a facet.
Ask a stranger’s name
and call them by their moniker
again, again, again. Smile!
Pose some little question
about themselves, a happenstance;
their tiny likes and dislikes, fads,
(and food’s a classic - fries and puddings,
vegetables, drink?) Persist.
Question ‘are you married?’
with a little twinkle
then ask them, now, to help you
in some small way – like, get a drink.
Call them by their name, again.
Say ‘I love you.’ Smile.
