(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' 'Til Daddy Comes Home(For Ruthie)

The wind
talking with the voices

of the trees
as if a ventriloquist

or playing now
that discarded twisted trumpet

etched in frost
a long lonely note

a hanging
pub sign

THE DOG & DUCK

trying to break free
unleased by the wind's fury

turning yesterday's TIMES
into many storied seagulls

MAN. U'S LOSS!
flying in my face

making me swerve

wobble
almost topple
oops
off

the bicycle threatening
to become

airborne
with every gust

unpegging a sheet
from a clothsline

losing its mind

as if it created
a ghost

that chases me
down the street

with great gusto
urging the garden gnomes

to come alive

inching up
the crazy paving

towards the house
steadfast as a fortress

before shattering
their hopes of invasion

scattering their gaily coloured
shards

I...I...I
balancing on my bike

each bone shaking
each bolt & nut

threatening to come loose

on into the valley
of the wind's breath

into the teeth
of the gale

a hat & scarf
running down the road

all
by themselves

racing an inside-out
umbrella

the wind
like a big bad wolf

then turning a corner
in my mind the unkind wind

turning kind
its hand

on my behind

goosing me along
until I fall

into my child's
welcoming smile.

User Rating: 2,7 / 5 ( 60 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Isn't it wonderful to have children to rush home to! You captured this feeling so well in your poem. Ruthie: o)