Saturday, 16 January 2021

A Poem a Day (352): The caretaker



I wrote this one for JD Mader’s 2minutesgo writing exercise on his website, Unemployed Imagination. Head over there to read stories and poems, comment or write your own. Write whatever you like. It’s open every weekend. Cheers 

 
 
The caretaker
 
 
We watch the carriers of the night,
darkness roused inside, the crow’s carrion,
 
life’s raw supper stewed between oceans;
a depth unquantified. We lie in stupor.
 
The bulbs need fixing here. Still glass
shapes itself into phantoms dusted out
 
over walls of empty play. They draw murals,
the children, running paint til it slides
 
into something recognisable, ardent colour.
It enriches; a sustenance to enliven grey.
 
Rain races down this labyrinthine brick,
narrow footways twist like knotted hair.
 
He carries his anxieties tight-wound, a ball
of wool, each strand intangible in the pack.
 
We watch the night steal away each light,
switching it off, the last caretaker of the world.
 
Humbly, he never says a word, false or true.
His heart lies heavy, but he never lets it speak.
 
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 16, 2021
 
 
 
 
 

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