On Waking (Poetry)

It used to be my room forty-something years ago
but still I wake up there
the old dream as vivid as ever
and hear long-dead neighbours
coughing, snoring, laughing
through the wall or outside
chatting over fences
digging or clearing snow

I smell breakfast wafting up the stairs
listen to the voices of my parents
the to and fro of habit
the clitter-clack of our dog’s claws
on the kitchen floor tiles
my father tuning in the dinky transistor radio
to listen to the news
before he leaves for work

All this and more
then a minute’s pause anticipating
my mother’s call reminding me
it’s a school day — time
I was getting up ...

Reality cuts in — the here and now
overrides, confuses, wipes away
the past
                I have to face today

The wrench is oddly painful
lingering like a hangover
and harder to dismiss
it can take all day to lift
that melancholy
a sentimental longing sickly-sweet

Night is sure to lure me back
nostalgia rules
I am so loathe to break the homing spell
that binds my feet