En Attendant Killian


It’s funny how a mind can work
At quarter past one, after midnight,
When the only things
To busy the eyes are a silent guitar,
A pile of unsorted underwear,
Two poorly-hung shirts
And a companion whose mysterious writing
Keeps light streaming from a lofty bulb
To seizure-bind the occasional
Furious moth at our black window.

I summon a pen from the floor
To dirty a blank page with blue scribbles,
Trying to take the whole room in;
The pink walls and brown door,
The bed-clothes a mix of sea colours,
The three different patterns in the carpets,
My empty water-bottle and half-full bag of biscuits.
And then my friend’s feet touch the floor.
He stands to quench the light,
And the wait for slumber ceases.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poem #1: "The Goalkeeper"

Borrowed Lines and Spare Time

Hunter-Gatherer