Forever

Forever

 

Thirteen, quick witted,

and his chunky monkey

is last year’s handle,

firmly in the past,

gone at last - the way all things go,

flame furiously then glow,

quick, quick, quick, slow,

a last drip of a firework’s drop.

 

You’re wondering

should he be reminded

or should it be forgot –

you could bring it back,

an old, shared joke

between us both

that landed, kept giving

but life continues living –

cannot countenance delay,

you’re waiting for push-back

when his airspace is full of flights

already on their way.

 

For him? It is forever,

as it was for us all,

but I remember a photograph

she sent, sepia tint

or at least it had faded,

fallen from an album

of her back pages, lain for ages

amongst dust, in colour

of dusk musky rust

and perhaps those sticky hinges

had relented, set it free,

a fluttering moth of the past.

 

The lines were familiar,

but no cinnamon scent,

no warmth, no kind words,

or fingers through thick black curls -

through your mask, glimpse deep below,

where black urchins

on the seabed grow

fishes flit, skip within a silver spark

you haven’t the skill to seize.

 

It is forever, sang the breeze

dancing with the olive trees,

the carob and the weeping fig,

but Maltese lizards scutter

like castor oil slips the flask

for what is past, has passed.