Sunday, 5 October 2008

Moorhen Lovers

Sixteen years old,
Stood at that age-less corner,
Same place I still stand now.
Waiting for the 83.

Amidst a handful of shadows.
Hidden in their collars, flecked with rain,
We consciously ignored each other,
Craning our necks for the groan of the bus,
'Without You,' I thought, 'Then Who?' I thought.
On a circular journey, an endless route.

And forever, quietly, ceaselessly, he searched.
Without question or comment,
Or thought of his sacrifice,
He picked through the mud and debris.
I watched him from so far away,
Not knowing what I was looking for, or looking at.
'Without You' I thought, 'Then Who?'
Maybe. Maybe I was the one worth leaving.

She sits on her throne of twigs.
Proud of her achievement,
Without thought of her sacrifice.
As she waits for his return,
I am ignored entirely.
She reaches over and kiss as he parts with his prize.
And the lining to a nest is not all that is passed.
'You're not even arguing anymore,' she'd said, laughing.
'Without You, I thought. 'Then Who?' I thought.
And raised my eyes to the closing evening.

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