Tuesday, 4 August 2009

Back at the 'rents

what’d they say to the dove in the cage
the first time they put the blanket over the bars
for the night, turned the light out
and went to bed?

Its not a bad life, food, water, mandatory sleeping hours.
Some never get enough of any,
And damned if I’m going to turn this
Into some sort of metaphor for peace or freedom.

Sometimes I get awakened by hammers
At eight in the morning, the deck my parents
have been waiting for for years finally
getting its nails in.
I think brief thoughts about dutch-protestant
work ethic and the value of patience
as I pull a pillow over my head
And wait until they’re done
To coffee and jobsearch, unshaven.

There are rot-blackened bananas hanging from
the fruithook and I think my sisters did not eat
all their oatmeal. This could be something about waste

But I predict banana bread.


Jake Tucker said...

this rules.

freckledfarang said...

Graham, I just found your blog. I hope this is fine with you but I'm excited since I didn't have enough to read on the internet. Now I have years of Graham to read.

Actually, I found this because I was looking to see if I could find your poem about... gossip... or talking trash about people. You know the one I love?

Anyway, reading this I thought I'd comment because although we are quite different people I think we probably have several experiences in common with the hardwood floor upstairs and the people who walk it. Thus, because I relate with it, I like this poem.

Also I think you're pretty neat.

There are cobwebs spreading out in the corner above where I'm sitting... near the fuse box.
In case you were wondering how I was keeping up the place. I'm not, really.