(Fear of the) UNFINISHED

Last night’s glasses, this morning’s mugs

are unwashed, strewn about.

Up to one’s armpits in unbrushed hair

and grubbled bedsheets, cleaning starts

with teeth and hands.

 

Ironing unfolds on the unswept floor.

Cupboard doors that will not fasten

remain unfixed.

Frayed attachments wait

on calls to friends not made.

 

Step outside. Pruning, overdue.

Fences to whitewash and patch up.

The news is closing in.

Beyond an uncut lawn, the earth

demands to be undug.

 

What, in the ever-perishing now,

is measure of each day?

Silent poems do not show

the little difference protest brings.

Nor the permanence of revolution. 

 

 The Shouting Tories: Bread & Roses Poetry Award Anthology 2022

iv. 2022

1 comment:

  1. A difficult poem to bring to the boil. Much thanks to poetry workshop compadres @ Galway Arts Centre and Poetry Aloud, BSE for encouragement and helpful suggestions.

    ReplyDelete