The Bad News
By Jane Hyphen
The bad news came in spoken words;
Absurdities in deadpan tones;
My manners saved me from myself,
'Well thanks,' I said, 'for all your help.'
While inward beat a heavy drum;
My carnal pulse a savage hum;
As I repeated every word,
And every charge of that exchange.
The rhythms of reality,
Played out everything dreaded,
And awful and strange.
My knowing heart could not be fooled;
But heads are so willing to be over-ruled;
I'll solve this, I'm clever,
There must be a way.
Not in this lifetime,
Not now, not today.
I'll stop time, I won't eat,
I'm not going to cry.
But crass people laughed,
And planes flew by.
Even oranges in a bowl,
Grew a sooty coat of audacious mould.
The past gathered pace as it floated downstream;
And all of me ached with what should have been;
What fools are we to know our fate,
When tripping hazards lie in wait.
The truth like an equinoctial swell,
Revealed a crack of earthly Hell.
The silt of denial have washed away;
This crueller landscape's here to stay;
And grief was sharpening his tools,
To carve relief where none has formed,
And later on to bring some too,
When years have passed and I have mourned.