Listening for you to ring the bell
Puts my nerves on edge,
And I can never guess your mood
From one hour to the next.
Waiting has always been - for me -
A pointless occupation. - Perhaps you disagree.
Old trees in our garden do not count the days,
They are far too busy reaching for the sun.
The axe will not concern them until it splits the bark.
As always, waiting proves to be a pointless occupation.
I am waiting for you to cease prevaricating.
Either move back here or stay put by the roadside
In that run down caravan with a smashed in window.
You rely too much on hauliers shifting fags and readies.
Sharing a meal with you is not a problem,
But under my roof please, not in a rural layby
Where lorries double park, their motors running.
Such deprivation rots the prize of freedom.
Waiting for you should not be be such a bind.
If we wait much longer I may prove to be unkind.
I love my freedom too, but in ways that enhance living,
Tending the shrubs and trees - watching the young fruit ripen,
Not cadging coke and pasties from unsuspecting strangers.
The cards are on the table Jo. - Step up and show your hand.
It seems to me that waiting is an endgame occupation.
I guess you disagree.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
21st.- 22nd. - 23rd. May - 26th. - 2022.
Getting the tone right was not easy writing this poem.
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