Lost August
‘No, it’s not that I want to be awkward’,
He began, as he stifled a sigh,
‘Though I don’t understand your intentions,
And I’m not even going to try,
I will bow to your final decision
In this, as in all we have done,
Only, please try to show me some kindness
As the man you once loved for your own.’
She looked from the living room window
Her arms tightly crossed at the breast,
Her back was so sternly toward him
That he feared for the worst, (and the best) ,
‘There once was a time, ’ then she halted,
Some things were left better unsaid,
Then she sighed, ‘Well, it’s just for one Christmas...
Then she snarled, ‘But I wish you were dead.’
And he smiled, as she turned back to face him
In that wistful expression of old,
Where his mouth turned the corners up lightly
But his eyes cried their hurt in the cold.
‘Yes, it’s only for Christmas I’m asking
With our children again at the last,
I’ll be gone with the wind in the morning,
Just a memory drift in your past.’
Then he felt that he should have said something
So he muttered I’m sorry… and that’,
And he turned down his gaze to the carpet,
And he felt for his old, beaten hat.
‘Don’t go... would you care for a coffee...’
She haltingly started to say,
As he fumbled his hat in confusion
To nod his familiar way.
‘If you’d rather I went, ’ he said quickly,
‘I know this is painful for you....’
‘Don't be soft, ’ said his wife from the kitchen,
‘It’s long since I felt owt for you...’
‘If you’d only been more of a husband,
Or more of a father to them...
‘Yes, I know, ’ and he painfully nodded,
And stared at the carpet again.
‘Well, you’ll sleep on the floor, in the study,
And I don't want you wandering round,
I’ve a man, as you know, that I sleep with,
And I won’t have him feeling put down.’
Then the hurt of his glance must have touched her,
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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