.................................
Mother's Boys
.................................

After so many good years
I have all but forgotten the men
But somehow their mothers still haunt me
And need exorcism by pen.

In my hysterical manor
Their portraits hang all up the wall
Above the steps of the stairway
And along the length of the hall.

They're forming a sort of a coven
And pledging to stay in my head
At least till the day I remarry,
If not till the day I am dead.

It's not that they acted like witches.
Most of them were quite okay.
But each of them had her suspicions
As to where it was my motives lay

With her sweet and adorable angel,
Her precious, her cherub, her son.
I tried very hard to deceive them,
But they knew I was in it for fun.

And they had to pick up the pieces
The day after I ran away.
And they had to button their mouths up,
And try very hard not to say

"I told you so!" - Listen up ladies,
You worthy and admirable crew,
I might have stayed with your sons longer,
If I hadn't known they preferred you.

I didn't like doing their washing,
Or hanging on each word they said.
I couldn't cook dinners like you did.
(I think I was better in bed).

And now I have heard they are married
To women like you used to be.
Their sons are asleep in the nursery.
And your sons are dreaming of me!

 
.................................
An Old Song
.................................

She's gone with the Raggle Taggle Gypsy oh
For his voice rang surprisingly true.
So she's chasing the truth on her own sweet path
And she hopes that she doesn't need you.
You with your love, yes your smothering love,
You who would walk over fire.
She's looking for coals for her own feet now
When she's done with walking the wire.

She's kicked off her shoes
And she's let her hair loose
And she's desperately tried to remember
The rites of choice
And that solitude's voice
Will comfort her all through November
And sing her to sleep in December
And kiss her awake in the embers
Of the old year, then disappear.

You, with your web of eiderdown
So soft, so warm, so safe.
You wrapped her up too tightly
And the band began to chafe.
Chide yourself not, you could never win.
She is a wandering Jew.
And the salt in the wound is how well she knew
How much she meant to you.

She's gone with the Raggle Taggle Gypsy oh
Though he was never here
With fate's coarse thumbprint upon his head
He never lay on her wedding bed
Or tempted her to undress,
Peeling off more or less
Everything she'd layered on
Through many soul cold years.
She dreamed him up - he was just a ghost
Of her past - a desperado
So with some bravado
She stripped herself down
And hitched out of town.

And you, oh you with your empty hands,
You with your heart so bleeding,
You with your throat all choked with tears,
You with your blind eyes pleading.
Why should I know where she's gone?
The world has turned and she's moved on.
And the harsh facts are for everyone:
You weren't what she was needing.

 
.................................
Watching It Happen (and taking sides)
.................................

We always knew the cracks were there,
Hairline, barely noticeable,
Faintly traceable by fingertips,
Audible in painful silences.

After dinner, driving home,
We would discuss, indeed dissect,
Driving our careless wedges home,
Looking at the pieces to see if we
Could mend our friends invisibly.

I thought he was more to blame
Took her for granted, out with the same
Friday night boys at the Snooker Club,
Always the last to leave the pub.
You would explain
How she rang him at work to nag,
Wanted to play martyr to his Jack the lad.
Smugly we thought and gloatingly
Ourselves outside this little tragedy.

Now the breaking china echoes
Round their fractured home.
You go down the pub with him.
I see her alone.

I've started checking us for cracks.
So far, none have shown.

.................................
Anna Evans
.................................

 
Copyright © Anna Evans
July 1996

... 6 poems from a manuscript by Hillary Joyce...
the small moments of your face hover
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