Verity

Mister next door
was re-roofing his garden shed;
he looked like a rock ape
sitting astride the apex
with his mouth full of tacks.

The tap, tap, tap of his hammer
disturbed the peace of the garden.
Abruptly he stopped
as a shrill voice called “lunch”
He scrambled down via a ladder
propped up at the side of the shed,
with whiskered cheeks puffed
and puckered lips pursed he waddled
off indoors whistling placidly

Eyes closed against the glare of the sun,
my mind drifts now that quiet
has been restored to the garden;
with nothing louder than the bees buzzing
and an occasional car zooming by.
On the insides of my eyelids
a picture is developing like a photograph.

Lovers scowling, then the sound of voices…

Words echo down through the decades
roar angrily, spitefully, painfully
inside my skull.
My heart thunders as it recalls
the ache the ribs caused holding it
fast within their bony cage.

“Maybe we should call it a day”
his tone harsh and cold.
“ You can’t mean that”
mine soft, trembling with fear.
He turned away, shoulders sagging,
hands thrust in his trouser pockets;
I stood rigid not breathing, waiting…

Suddenly he was holding me
and we were both crying out our hurt;
our kisses becoming passionate
until the inevitable coupling returned the Status Quo.

Now all these years later
age demands verity,
that was his pathetic attempt at honesty;
his feeble bid for freedom.

I was too immature to realise the reality,
didn’t understand;
we should have gone out separate ways then.

He wasn’t ready to be tethered,
I was too young to recognise truth.