Sally Richards

 

 

 

The Bigger Issue

 

 

You nearly tripped

over your self-importance

hurtling along your trajectory

of manifest materialism

 

Sneering me up and down;

sniffing out

through up-tuned nose

the object of annoying diversion

from train of thought:

M & S food hall,

the latest five bed on Elm Park.

 

O yes, you nearly lost it:

cool air of sophistication –

catching sight of my means to survival;  

hurling silent profanities,

muttering  “get a job waster” –

another dart

of misrepresentation

in my all too dented ego.

 

Could there be a chip

on that Versace-padded-shoulder?

The constant need for distractions

to block out thoughts –  

sipping your G & T  

alone

wondering where he is;

then – the smell

of his shirt

telling you something

you really don’t want to know.

 

You see

my issue is trying to get a home

….what’s yours?

 

 

 

Mount wood pond

 

 

We stop.

Our smoke breath –  

phantoms

among sharp-frosted pines.

 

For a few seconds we stand

motionless

united in thoughts

of a different scene

 

then we search

for just the right stone –

with each crack

of the ice,

every depth-charged reverberation,

the years turn back.

 

Childhood echoes

ruffle the silence

in mid-winter

therapy.

 

 

 

Sally Richards © 2009

Midnight Refugee

       a true story

 

 

Tap-tapping

on the living room pane!

startled momentary pause –

see him standing there

through pulled-back-blind

in the glow of street-lit darkness

a blurry figure    

male  

at 12am

 

Who are you

with your tap-tapping –

I, lazily sitting

with late night film;

Mortitia-haired, pale,

ready for my bed…

 

…well, it’s not what you expect

tap-tapping

in the middle of rural night;

thoughts struggle to order

in wilting brain;

 

He intimates the need to eat

caution clangs

 in my head.

 “I’m not opening the door”.

With tentative window opening –  

the first glimpse:

dark, straggly appearance –

Surreal, so surreal!

 

“have you any food?”

possible German accent –

overwhelming feeling

of subterfuge, time warp…

(imagination running riot)

 “haven’t much – bread and cheese?”

nods “thank you”

 

 “are you walking?” stupid question

drifts lamely into night

“I look for somewhere to sleep

tomorrow I go to Liverpool”

(you couldn’t make this up)

unease with overriding sympathy

for this dark stranger

who came tap-tapping

into my quiet village world

bread and cheese:

foil-wrapped, apple-topped:

passed through

“Thank you”

“take care”  I said banally!

“hope you find somewhere to sleep”

 

I didn’t – not a wink

thinking of my mystery man

out there

in freezing rural night.

 

 

 

Sally Richards © 2009