the final stanza is a triumph, Max, an odd word to use in such a context I
know, but beautifully paced and judged, those semi-rhymes in particular.
On 9 April 2014 02:04, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> The Double Bed
>
> was plain oak, suiting
> the average couple
> my parents were.
>
> When they married it went
> with them to a remote
> Taranaki bush school house,
>
> followed them to Auckland
> to a small suburban house,
> a short drive from his work.
>
> Here it dawned on them
> that childlessness
> seemed to be their fate.
>
> They adopted a girl child,
> loved her as their own.
> Soon after, I was conceived,
>
> delivered, installed: the boy.
> Sister and I shared a room -
> she sang; soon I sang along.
>
> There were more moves,
> south-east, south-west,
> south. The bed came too.
>
> Reinstalled in that Auckland
> suburb, the loyal furniture
> served on, the oak table,
>
> the piano (Canadian) also oak.
> As before, the double bed
> dominated the small bedroom.
>
> In auntie Bess's house once
> we played with cards marked
> for fortune-telling.
>
> Mum, what is Marriage Bed?
> Her answer threw no light.
> Something kept from kids.
>
> We came home from school
> one day to find a change:
> the double bed had gone,
>
> replaced by two single beds,
> not even side by side.
> 'We'll both sleep better.'
>
> It sounded unconvincing.
> Dad came home late, later,
> went to bed quiet, quieter.
>
--
David Joseph Bircumshaw
Website and A Chide's Alphabet
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