Friday, 4 September 2020


I have been polishing the poem for this post all week. This is unusual. I tend to write them and leave them alone for a time. This one demanded attention. Possibly because the narrative thread needed to be very clear.

the hanging man

the wallpaper will not hang today

reprieved beauty unseen

as it has been these past two Saturdays

it is the hangman, the handyman

who can turn his hand to all the things I cannot

whose future dangles by a thread

his disbelieving wife

long his sternest critic

has finally had enough

he stands in what is now her hallway

stuffing thirty years of life

into black plastic bags

I think that the narrative is clear. The breakdown of a relationship, wallpaper that is not put on the wall, the handyman packing his life into bags. Your thoughts, as always, welcome.

Here are Palooka 5 being splendid.

Until next time.