A collection of poems and other writings...

Sunday 1 June 2014

After Benediction

They say confession is good for the soul....

In the sitting room,
after Benediction,
when the Holy Ghost had settled on us,
O Salutaris Hostia,
most of us
would sit and watch
Going for a Song,
while Mum
or sometimes Dad
would put tea on the
trolley.

Then there would be
the squeaking of the wheels
and the gentle
clanking
of crockery,
Songs of Praise,
the large aluminium teapot,
the blue and white striped milk jug,
a family of mugs,
and knives and plates
jostling as the trolley wheels
found the edge of the carpet.

General purpose
noise and reaching
and spreading
of butter on bread,
white with dark crusts,
golden syrup,
bramble jelly,
Honeyboyhoney
in a large plastic tub,
Swiss roll,
Cadbury’s chocolate minirolls,
cup cakes,
Oaty wonder,
Mr Kipling
Jaffa,
Club

When the lemon yellow toaster had been bought

it would hide behind the sofa
and Dad would reach us slice after slice
of golden slice,
and hand them to Mum
who would
meltingly butter them
and spread them
with Golden Shred
or
blackcurrant jam.

In the absent mindedness
of preparing to eat,
I flicked my finger
and the large and luscious
mucus string
that I had just collected from my nose
found its way carelessly
into the air,
descending from the peak of its parabola
as Kate raised
her honey-dripping toast
to her mouth.

And there was another settling,

Tantum Ergo Sacramentum

a landing
and a shriek
and a shaming
and a reddening of cheeks
and a cutting off of corners,
and a
private
hopeful, yet doomed
resolution
as the bogie laden fragment
sizzled in the Parkray.

No comments:

Post a Comment