day 28 and 29

Here's my day 28 poem


Through this weekend
(remembering London)

My 11-year –old
had to put on my socks
and tie the laces of my running shoes
my back too sore to bend that far.
The box of chocolates I smashed
on the floor of the youth hostel
and couldn’t give to friends we visited
but used instead as a bribe only I
could reach on top of the wardrobe.

Horizontal rain,
and the central line delayed
because of a body on the tracks.
Always somebody needed the loo
waiting outside the toilets
at St James’s Park
the brass band played
and Londoner’s lazed in deck-chairs
or on the grass half dressed
and I wished for a little
of that idyll.



and here's today's poem

Eight

Eight years and the guilt
if it hadn’t been for nine-eleven
and the outbreak of bird flu,
if I hadn’t had twins
the kind that scream all the
way to the shopping centre
the kind that run in opposite directions
if I’d got passports organized sooner,
if he’d wanted to come too,
if I wasn’t feeling safe
in the groove of my routines
it might not have taken 8 years
and the guilt.

day 27 - round

I'm running a day late, but hopefully will catch up tomorrow, I'd hate to blow it right at the end.

Round

Spokes of a cart wheel
turn, white against a grey sky
new eye of London.

Bowls of pumpkin soup
once a week reminder of home
at least they’ll eat it.

day 26 looking forward

I feel as if my brain is mush! I think it's all downhill from here...


Looking forward

At the railway museum
we peered into the Royal Mail carriage
leather seats and wood polished dark with use
row upon row of pigeon holes
a handful of letters slotted in.
Everything in it’s place – Mum notes,
That’s how my house will be,
I hope, dream, kid myself,
Ready for my visit –says Mum.

day 25 - cousins

Cousins

Shifting from one hip
to the other, loll on the grass
in St James’s Park.
The cousins are an arm’s length
away, messing with a ball,
he laughs at her attempts to kick,
my kids are a little way off
in the opposite direction.
Eventually, after my brother
gets back with sandwiches
there will be a thaw
and they will all play soccer
together.

day 24 - Somebody said

Somebody said don’t go to Covent Garden

not much to see
and it’s all overpriced,
and we nearly didn’t
but somebody else said
you must go, and look out
for the dog-box-man.
We got there early on Sunday
sat on the kerb to watch
the first busker of the day try
drum up a crowd, juggling
heckling passers-by, sword
swallowing, & (drum-roll) the bed of nails
for the price of a coin dropped
into a hat.
Then wandered on
to see the rubix cube up a ladder
against the clock guy.
On the way to the tube
rushing, late to meet my brother
we glimpsed the dog-box-man
setting up, a symbol of
all the things we didn’t see.
In York we bought juggling balls
the kids dreamed one day
of being street performers.

day 23 - muted

Muted

Sitting here, louvers open
I can hear our neighbour cough
frogs croak, bats scrabbling in the trees.
Over there shut the door
and the world is shut out
shut the kitchen door
and the kids are muted,
classical music on the radio
while you cook
the chance for conversation.

day 22 - Inconvenience

Inconvenience

The morning after the coal mine
something in my back torn
and I could hardly move
hobble in spasms to the bathroom
stand under the hot shower
and wait for something to ease.

It took the indulgence
of two days bed rest, reading
and gazing at the rectangle
of sky, shivering beech leaves,
red tiled roof across the road
(the view from the little bedroom
lined with books I won’t touch
politics, economics, dry history.)

Mum takes the kids to the park
cooks dinner, helps me dress
I worry how will she get downstairs
If anything ever happens.