Wakes, rolls from the bed;
down the hall, into the kitchen.
The kettle whistles.
The porridge spits steam
from exploding bubbles.
Looks at the radio but defers;
music would be like forgetting,
like disrespect, like coping.
Four place settings still;
three fragile hearts,
two, too young to be shattered,
one too old to repair.
No longer two against the world;
the world versus one,
the world winning, laughing.
A tear on the hob, dancing.

Comments
russiandoll | June 19, 2009 - 20:28
Like this...
A bit of teacherly scrawling here from me;
Is 'verses' meant to be versus? I'd be tempted to try it without the exclamation marks too, I think that might bring the poignancy of the subject more to the fore, if that's what you're after.
sarah wilson | June 19, 2009 - 20:59
Gentle and pignant. Lovely poem Chris. sarah x
DraxB | June 19, 2009 - 21:53
poignant indeed
Jupiter | June 19, 2009 - 21:58
Hi Chris. Love the "tear on the hob, dancing!" line - can just picure it - and the exploding porridge bubbles too. Well observed and related. Nice one. ;-)
Ewan | June 20, 2009 - 07:03
Agree about the exclamation marks. A very good succession of images.
Ewan
threeleafshamrock | June 20, 2009 - 22:22
Thanks Russian, I'm a martyr for the exclamation marks; cleaned it up and think it looks more 'normal' ;) Thanks for reading and for the much appreciated advice.
threeleafshamrock | June 20, 2009 - 22:23
Thanks for the kind words Sarah ;)
threeleafshamrock | June 20, 2009 - 22:24
Hey J. glad you liked and could relate (don't you just hate making porridge? lol
threeleafshamrock | June 20, 2009 - 22:25
Thanks Ewan for reading and as already stated cleaned up the exclamation marks and think it looks better for it, thanks for the help. ;)