Damage (Poetry)
11th August 2006
After last night’s storm, the days’s false calm
tempers breakfast — damps impatient sighs —
and silence bridges curt, infrequent words,
side glances never meeting clouded eyes.
A spoon against a cup tolls like a bell,
the air hangs awkward, nursing fears unsaid,
suspicions black as burnt, neglected toast
make niggling crumbs of muted anger spread.
Her face expressionless, she hides her wounds —
dark bruises underneath a thin disguise
of masking cream so artfully applied
her skin looks pale as morning’s washed-out skies.
He scans his paper, burys guilt and sips
his lukewarm coffee, knowing when he’s gone
she’ll search out bottles, force him to admit
the weather forecast’s seldom ever wrong.
tempers breakfast — damps impatient sighs —
and silence bridges curt, infrequent words,
side glances never meeting clouded eyes.
A spoon against a cup tolls like a bell,
the air hangs awkward, nursing fears unsaid,
suspicions black as burnt, neglected toast
make niggling crumbs of muted anger spread.
Her face expressionless, she hides her wounds —
dark bruises underneath a thin disguise
of masking cream so artfully applied
her skin looks pale as morning’s washed-out skies.
He scans his paper, burys guilt and sips
his lukewarm coffee, knowing when he’s gone
she’ll search out bottles, force him to admit
the weather forecast’s seldom ever wrong.