Hoping For Footsteps (Stream XV)
Her door ajar, I try to slide past
Know from the past
That she listens.
Lonely she listens,
Listens in hope,
Hoping for footsteps
Stepping her way.
She catches me on the stairs
Me stacked with laundry.
She expectant,
Stands with folded arms,
A shelf for her ample bosom,
Blocking my way.
'Done your washing then? '
'Um' I say noncommittally
But now she has her opening
And opening her mouth
Tells tales of progeny
And their progeny.
She lives her life vicariously
For they live far off
Only seen on high-days and holidays.
I Listen,
Watch her wattles
Shake and quiver
As she delivers, what to her, is vital news,
Which is no news.
This sad cackling hen.
I feel stuck between the stairs and the stars
No where to bolt.
No bolt hole,
I half listen
Nodding.
Nodding off
Smiling I shake her off.
'Sorry very busy, must go' I say.
A lie.
Later I think-
How sad.
To be the single highlight of her day.
poem by Paul Brookes
Added by Poetry Lover
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