And when you’re not here I hurry through the histrionics
Of the day as honestly as possible:
Making safe the pavements that my son’s begun to travel;
Carving half a chicken after blistering its skin;
Soothing mother’s mood with music lifted from the Fifties
And generating sighs of great relief once all’s complete.
But still the empty minutes stack once those I’ve packed
With diligence have had their fill
And filed themselves for me to rate much later.
And still the empty hours tower over my time’s hoover,
Proving that no matter how hard I fasten myself to duty
I’ll be left fruitless at the end of its conclusion without you.
And all the fizz of wished achievements; all the glitz
Of entertainment’s idiots; all the bought goods, the thoughtless
Bid wins and greedy media acquired cannot aspire
To the undeniable sum of your company,
Or the wonder that you breathe into the free time
Before I succumb to sleep’s compulsive numbness.
So when you eventually bless me this evening,
Shorn as it will be of yesterday’s measure of meaningful
Seconds, I will beckon you closer to my mouth
And whisper shout just how much you structure me,
And how time spent without you near, even when still so far,
Is more rewarding than any spent alone.