Monday, June 30, 2025

Unexpected visit from the Muse this morning...

You’re in the foxhole, once you have had kids.


Before you could be blithe about death, 


Your own, other's- affect some posture of 


Cynicism or indifference or rueful depth


Meditating on it with tented fingers, keen to impress 


at parties or down the pub. But now 



At least for me, it’s all just- please, please, please


Keep them safe or,


If it's going to be something bad, not too bad, not


Life-changing or death and as for me. 


Let me live long enough to get them through to adulthood, then 


You can deal with me as you please.



Entreating, something, anything, whatever agency 


sits at the centre of things 


And tips disaster your way on a whim.


It’s God, I suppose, I’m talking to.


Some force that can be implored with to intervene, 


So we won't be subject to pure contingency 


-banal accidents crossing roads or climbing trees,


Caught up in the spasms of the mad, the careless or the predatory. 


Or illness or disease or..please 


Please, please just let us make it through 


All the hazards. After all, most people do.

 

Or at least leave us be long enough so I can know- 


I paid my dues- 


to the Universe, 


to you, 


to your mother


When we were all down in the foxhole, 


Briefly together.

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