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I thank you again
We fall over ourselves with politeness
Programmed to respond
We even apologise on demand
Known for saying sorry
When stood on by others

It starts like everything starts
Like the way mother would wipe your face
A corner of a moistened handkerchief
The dirt washed away leaving a clean spot
Amongst the grime of a day at play

You begin with a mop, once one corner sparkles
It all begins to rumble out of control
You polish away grease stains, dust
Take a scrubbing brush to ground in stains

File photographs from over-filled drawers
Tidy like a maniac, obsessed by clean
As the clutter finally begins to stutter into order
You find forgotten things beneath piles of papers

You end the day exhausted
All glass work gleams, the layered dirt of ages
Has been removed, re-ordered, renovated
The mildly haunting whiff of desperation
Has been replaced by strawberry-scented febreze

We all talk of the kindness of strangers
And forget the loyalty of friends
On the occasions that we lose ourselves
They find us again, bring us back
Make tea, serve up cake and laughter

When days darken and you hasten
Your way to an end, through unpleasantness
They stand by you, refusing to leave
Roll up sleeves, batten down hatches
Gather themselves for the last battle

They do the hoovering to help; put out bins
Listen when you need to speak
Stay silent when the moment passes
Pour water from plastic jugs on cabinets
Arrange pillows and pace corridors

They ask relentless questions of those who care
Insist on answers and demand
that you are respected, remembered,
addressed by your name. They thank others
Let us not forget what they deserve

This is real
Not assignations with half-known strangers
Across crowded rooms that cease to be

We are being reality
You might count the miles and see them as more significant
Build barriers and see troubles

You are wrong
Silent lists of reasons why you should not
Do not have meaning in this world

Fall to temptation
You are not lost, there is nothing wrong here
I promise

The first police report came in on the hour
11.00
After the last post had been delivered
After the postal worker had finished his shift

11.00
A tangle of events impossible to unweave
Random dispatches from panicked voices
On telephones, whispered information

The sound of gunfire twisted into events
11.00
A fearful wave of social media messages
Across a hushed landscape of dread

11.00
The hour that we lost
The slaughter of the sweet-hearts
Surrounded by cards and flowers

The richness of red
roses – a heart to open
all could be for you

You are perfect
A dream
A white room

The scent of
Summer
Flowers everywhere

A moment
A past
The heat of sun

You are not here
I am
Blue horses

A white room
A past
White flowers, sun

You are perfect
I am
White; blue horses
Flowers everywhere

I think of how much
I have let you down over the years

I think of the day
That I never came home
Just caught the bus, went elsewhere

I think of the night
That I promised to be back
And you waited to say, never again

I think of that haunted day
When I nearly died
And for a while you did not know either way

Now another Sunday passes
Yet again I break things

We laugh at the absent-minded mindfulness that comes with age
Inside I weep, I let you down; again, I’m never here on time

Postponed, deferred – what
a word, better said: cancelled,
aborted, annulled.

Everything is not quite right today.
It all looks OK,
Open the front door,
The milk bottles are there.
Next door’s cat is lurking
On the doorstep, wanting breakfast.
The golden leaves scatter themselves,
Just like every other day.
The bus goes past.
On time.
The lady across the road greets us,
With: ‘Hello’, just like any other day.
The man down the road
Is picking up litter.
Moaning: ‘Kids these days’.
But the alarm woke me late
And everything waits
The hours, the minutes
Are gathered, hushed by our bedside.
Open the door,
Go outside.
It all looks OK.