Would you mind holding my life for a second?


I want to count the counterfoils of my years.


When you reach my age,


you cannot always remember


where you left things like pens, keys,


months, seasons, even memories


of used decades, unremarkable


for having left no mark


except upon my face.


Was that my life that passed just now?


Is that all I will be allowed?


Each rationed happiness


overshadowed by a cloud


of apprehension that things could go wrong,


and then invariably did.


We all know that God runs a very tight ship.


He does not give refunds for disappointments,


nor has he made provision for second voyages,


for repeats, encores, or second turns


to say the lines one forgot to say on stage.





How much time do I have left


to recite the lines of love


I have memorized but, pressed for time,


left unexpressed?


Time presses me now.


I feel it stiffen my hands,


season the joints of an ageing, aching heart.


It is time to heed Time’s advice


not to curl into a foetal coil,


but to rehearse sleeping straight,


in preparation.








[Published in WHEN BUSH COMES TO SHOVE]