I've been fiddling with a poem overnight, to my wife who is on the
other side of Australia at present, visiting her brothers. But I am
doubtful as to its merit and feel it needs panel beating in some way.
Please critique, if you have the time, and return. Thanks.
MISSING YOU
Other side of the nation rather than
other side of the bed, and all that -
nothing mysterious about it,
you know I'm missing you. But
what I don't understand is how
the house is missing you. It whispers
its discontent and keeps me up late
with its incessant whining. Hear?
The trick is to turn off, I suppose,
switch off like the hot element in
the bedside lamp just goes off
when I press the plastic button
at the stem beneath the shade.
I keep wondering at the physics
of the real world, not the metaphoric.
That's life without you, a dozen
details for each event – bringing in
_The West Australian_, shaking it
free of dew, watering your plants,
then having to take off whatever
footwear I've had on because
I've watered them too. Detail.
Like, I've never noticed atmospheric
control lights in the refrigerator before.
Beep, it complained, beep beep. Detail
like that. I can tell you now, now that
you are so far away, I can tell you
how many steps it takes to
go from front door to letterbox. No
need to know that, but I do.
The house rises before me
and clears every room of any life
that might be there to join me
as I rise from this chair, walk out
and say, 'Hello?' Nobody. I go to
read your itinerary on the fridge again.
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/
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