Almanac Poetry: ‘Scratchy Greys’

 

 

Scratchy Greys

 

A scratchy grey sky loitered above,

refusing to move unless I 

stayed still.

Beyond that, nothing made sense.

 

I had no idea where or

who I was,

just felt overwhelming dread.

 

A thought came, of wife and child.

It seemed like we’d been apart

a long time.

Were they alive?
In another state?
Lost, waiting on me?

 

I found my wife’s phone

on the passenger seat.

Relief flooded in.

She’s real, nearby.

 

Fear followed –

what if she’s hurt?
Dead?

 

Soon, it made me angry, furious,

to still have no idea

where this was!

 

Eventually, facts melted through.

It was a beach car park,

they were over the dunes,

playing,

waiting for me.

 

I had pulled in,

after retuning from the mountains,

unable to stay awake

again.

 

I’m tired all the time.

Fall asleep all the time.

Always fighting it,

always angry,

always losing.

 

Each time, it takes longer to figure out

who and where I am.

 

If not for fucked necks and back,

their pain,

I’d sleep for hours.

 

My memory’s going,

I can feel it.

Words take longer to remember,

if at all.

 

Easy words.

 

Age is here,

all those concussions, head injuries,

are here,

while my little girl is still

so young.

 

I know I probably won’t reach

her thirtieth birthday,

 

or her twentieth.

 

Something’s both fallen,

and continues to fall.

 

I staggered onto the beach looking for them,

constructing myself

into something happy 

and strong.

 

The moment the next hour provided

would be superb,

a place, full of love, to hide.

 

Due to lockdown, there were

no other people around.

 

 

 

 

More poetry from Tommy Mallet can be read HERE

 

 

More poetry from Almanac Poetry can be read HERE

 

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