He learnt at an early age
To deliver taxed dreams to
His breakfast table, where
He shared the fruit-juice and the papers
With his wife –
Spreading marmalade with
A small silver knife on their
Thinly sliced toast –
Bitter-orange marmalade to match
Their bitter orange destiny –
Listening to the news –
Rushing into the day believing it
To be important –
Driving over flyovers –
A quick drink with Tom
Wondering where his favourite tart had gone –
Her address lay sprawled in his diary –
The one he kept at the office
Under a pile of Time & Tide and the
‘Country Gentleman’
The devil you will find is a snob –
Whose club is somewhere off Charing-Cross –
God waits near the end of the Heath –
As a tax is put on fornication, dreams,
New rugs and that drug which keeps
Youth locked into old men’s groins
And lets fading women rich and vain
Believe they can be young again –
False declarations of courage and love –
Falls from the cunning careerist’s lips –
As he eyes a woman he wants for the night –
Yet with surprise she leaves abruptly
While he’s still coughing out his words –
Then his ardent breath smelling
Of too much Guinness almost stops
His throat up –
She didn’t hear a word – and he is furious –
Not being able to hatch his sex
10
Out of himself into her –
But he bends like a sharp green reed
And decides to catch the last train home –
Shänne Sands
from the selection Moonlight on Words published by FootSteps Press