Perhaps, when we were young,
There was far too much sun.
It was there almost every day —
Until a metallic sky trickled rain
And stiff breezes pleated a briny bay.
In childhood, it seemed, we never knew pain.
There were freedoms then —
Some people had fought for them
(Or so we were assured)
And discarded their swords.
Then, laughter was our wordless friend,
Before we were targets for faraway blames.
That all came later — an unimaginable end,
Beyond the sidelines of our youthful games.
Confined to the roads
Of a tedious neighbourhood,
Away from the exceptional sea
And the wild windblown heath,
I walk the wearisome streets
And look at the humdrum houses,
Wishing that I owned one
Or two —
I’d rent one out
To someone poor
Like me.
I have known cold.
No, much more than cold —
Chilly days,
Glacial nights,
And icy hindsight.
Now we are old, under skies unkind.
We squint behind our eyeglasses
So we can see the sugary sun shine
And the mulberry moon gleam as it passes.
Somewhere, mad waves still roll with a roar
Across shivering sands on an uncertain shore.
But the main events have all been concluded,
With the awards allocated to the somewhat able.
Luckless others lost their lives or mistook their way,
Like bankrupts who found they could never pay.
Jinxed paupers weren’t ever invited to the table
Where the spoils were eaten by those who colluded.
