Christmas Poem
Its late.
The sea is swilling, dully flat against the harbour wall
Even the clinking sail boat masts have lost enthusiasm
The drapes more flail than flap, the Christmas lights
In the morosely quiet marina, weak and helpless
Against the grey chill of winter.
People are huddled in the bars and restauraunts,
Groping their iphones like old aunties with sherry;
The leatherette banquettes, wrinkled and slick
From the wet and worn out traffic of seasonal shoppers
And in the multi-storey all is a-squeak with the whine of windscreen wipers
As the chill constantly drizzles down.
He waits.
You promised to come back, laughing loud, promised that you would call
Downstairs the children play on gameboys only half expecting,
That there will be hot food, the fire lit,
Or your verbosely happy persona, will re-appear
Against this cold, dark, sadness.
People pass by on the rain slicked street
Caught in the streetlight holding each other, like fools
Against the winds and time, serving to remind you once again,
That she promised, that it’s Christmas; love, peace, goodwill
Are all in short supply, un-stocked shelves in your local supermarket.
It’s late, you gather yourself up in the half-light by the window,
As the waves, thick with memory and hope, swell and fall
You’ll wait, a little longer.
© Juliet Brain, 2011
