untitled (‘I drove to your father’s smoke-stale house’)

I drove to your father’s smoke-stale house
Helped you pack your excess baggage
Shared a last coffee to delay the inevitable;
Mustered your excited children and envious parents
Convoyed to the airport.

Followed your treasure hunt from check-in to departure tax
to refreshment bar (milk for your baby)
Sat on stained, burnt airport carpet, awaiting your boarding call
Monitored your dancing children and nervous parents
While you rested in a blue chair.

Waved you through the door of no return
— Bye! Enjoy yourselves! —
Watched you dive skyward in an iron lung on metal wings
Parted formally with your relieved parents
And drove home dangerously, Jimi Hendrix screaming, home to nothing, crying.

I Want to Climb Inside your TV

Your TV glows.
Beautiful colours
A kaleidoscope of warmth and feeling.
I watch it closely
Too closely
Mesmerised by happenings on your screen.
Your TV beckons
Invites participation
Begs me to join a circle of linked hands
Yours and mine.
An inner circle
Alight with a vital, thoughtful radiance.
Behind a clear barrier
And I want to climb inside your TV.
I try and try
But I’m torn and bleeding
On the glass front of your screen.