Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon

Rupert expounds his theory of life,
Whilst Suzanna quietly tries to make sense of it all.
She ingests his words, but finds them marginally
Less comprehensible than Rupert does himself.
I know what he's saying, but only because
I know he's not saying anything.
Like Suzanna, I'm pulled between the twin attractions of
Take-away television and Rupert's vision of an ideal world -
Where a person is measured by their intrinsic worth,
And meaning is as meaning does.

Suzanna prepares the food, for a more fundamental
Conclusion than Rupert could hope to achieve.
I grasp the break in the conversation to speak clearly
And concisely on the topic of the day; Why,
When there is pain, is there nothing of any value on the screen?
I'm confronted by blank stares. Smile.
It's not important.
It's only words, in any given order,
No more than that.

So Rupert continues. I listen but
I don't hear because there's nothing to learn
From this Sunday afternoon ramble.
After food we could go to the pub,
Where the change of scenery will do us good.
Pool will teach us all we need to know about life:
Pool will confirm Rupert's argument, and
Gin will teach Suzanna to laugh again, and
I will get drunk, lose my game, and recognise that
This is just the way of things.
So we pass one more around.

Then we leave.
Rupert more gregarious,
Suzanna more talkative.
I hold my paranoia's hand to calm his growing insecurity.
It'll be alright, I say, quietly, to anyone who'll listen.
And the pool table calls to us. In our collective dreaming
We answer his call...
Relieved.