Postcard from the edge.
Postcard from the edge.
The rain fell again today
The car park was a lake
For which I was unprepared
Just a white cotton shirt
And an old umbrella
That never works.
But it was just water
And nothing happened.
The market was busy
And the people were steaming
With more than the heat.
Prices were rising
I know,
That seems crazy
The reasons are hazy
When they were supposed to fall.
What happened to cut throat
Competition
And negative inflation.
Has all the air gone out
Of that particular bubble
Is China’s failing economy
Causing all this trouble.
But it will blow over soon
At least that’s what they say.
And nothing really happened.
My wife said I need to shave,
My skin was not designed
For too much stubble.
She calls me a prickle basket
If truth be told, I like it.
It is affectionate,
A term of endearment,
And it makes us both laugh.
Several bits and pieces
But they were not
Really needed
And there’s always tomorrow,
It seems to follow.
So I sat in the cafe for a while
Read the paper with hardly a smile
Nothing much in the news to please
So I ordered a toasty
Filled with cheddar cheese,
And the coffee was good.
It compensated for the
Chill I felt in my bones
When I saw the ghost
Of a past
I barely missed,
In the clenched fist
Of a screaming child,
Demanding more
Than was on offer.
The mother looked tired
And a little wired.
The infant had eyes
That had seen too much,
And she slapped him.
Not the softest of touch,
It shocked me
And bruised more than his ego.
But he shut up.
I tutted and shook my head
Both his and her
Cheeks turned cherry red,
But nothing happened.
As I already said,
The sun had the day off
Clouds tried to fill the hole
But it took too much of a toll.
And they all cried with the effort
To lighten up.
The more they tried
The heavier they got
And it was very wet.
The likelihood is
It will get wetter yet
But not enough to stop me
From getting to where
I want to be.
And in the end
Nothing really happened.