Friday, November 06, 2015

Riots in Reflection

Is our custodian of calm,
So elastic and plastic and thin.
Or is it purely a technique for keeping track
When we want something looking back?
Perhaps she’s a gentle nurse,
Tucking souvenir tickets into our pockets.
Tender times spent waiting with children,
Unwilling to urge them into any rat race
Or when I pulled you from beneath a truncheon
moments before it split open your girlish face

The day you wanted something from me but I gave you only words
Wasn’t it you who said it is time we grew up? With
Time a lighthouse blaring warnings of imminent rocky ruin.
Tumbling through hourglass figures to settle on the underside of our hips.
Scorching moist elastin into a salty dry skin that cannot be rubbed young.
Time never stretching languid again
nor preening in the heat wave of unlimited opportunity.
She’s truncating, cooling and separating,
Breaking us like flotsam floating away still.
My nemesis moving fast forward
Intent on her kill.


Laurie Boroughs said...

Nice imagery, and a small edge of panic that resounds. I too find myself in quiet puddles looking about with stunned recognition. What a blur it can be, this life. What a joy to be able to stop and write and think about it all. Thanks Maj

melanie chaffey said...

very moving ! Keep Moving x .

Unknown said...

Thanks for the reminder! I really liked your poem... really liked it, oh to be middle aged and feel so young, as in it was like yesterday and so old at the same time, did it ll really happen xxx Thanks Maj. xxx