archive the pix

take the photos

it is always surprising

how few we have

or take

thinking memories

are enough by themselves

but no

like old flames

these fade to grain

so take the photos

archive the pix

come the winter

of our lives the year

we can sit around

remember everything again

dance floor

that existence

picking up crumbs

learning how to behave

watching

aping others

paying the price

for not getting quite right

starting over again

that awkward adolescence

thinking feeling

everybody else has this covered

& all of us hiding our shame

for holding no real clues

as to what was going on

shuffling on the dance floor

picking up moves

best bits from everybody

you ever meet

waiting for the moment

the right time show out

be in the groove

& looking around

I see some of those cats

are standing there

still

cute l’il pup

touch of shyness

some social awkwardness

this orphan child

is still available for adoption

ok I might not be

a cute l’il pup anymore

some half pint at your knees

but any mummy & daddy

would be good enough right now

to help me fill my adolescent needs

new car fix my teeth check my s a t’s

make withdrawals bank of dum & mad

& I’m not so proud

if you’d like to drag me round

I’ll smile at all your 

sorry

my new relatives

your maybe not so cute or l’il pup

sitting up straight rolling over

begging for handouts

come birthday holiday Christmas time

apply within

feeling the weight

a simple gift

glass sand & brass

hourglass

I thought you’d like this

she murmured

looking into my eyes

yes yes I do thank you

taking it not her

into my hands

feeling the weight

the heft

solid construction

cold brass & glass

wondering just where

I might put it

I had nothing to give her

in return

but a peck on the cheek

a simple gift

or was it

to signify the end

of our time?

the foxes scream

sleeping outside

early or is late?

hearing the foxes scream

only when I do this

do I remember

the why of it

the joy in night sounds

crackle of wood

sighing of the fire

it is me who gets in my own way

in the doing more of this

remembering the cold morning

the wake of aching bones

unyielding stiff hard ground

rather than the conversations

as we stare into the embers

when our truths get told

our closeness comes in

in dreams

we build mix tapes

cd’s of songs

to send

when our own words

lose their power

sentiment

gets in the way

hearing the fella sing

holding our choke

as he tried to say

in the words of another

come what may

he loved her so

even if all that

came out wrong