Poetry Monday

Marbled Chocolate

When I think back

to my first taste of chocolate,

it smacks of your seed cake

almonds neatly layered on top.

A treat on Saturday

after piano practise,

one thin slab on a white china plate

choked down with a glass of milk.

A penance, 

but I never dared to tell you.

I remember your anger

when I came home from Mulligan’s,

told you they had shop-bought cake,

a triangle of marbled sweetness;

Battenberg.

They had sliced pan too;

white and fluffy,

and on Fridays, fish and chips,

lashed with salt and vinegar,

wrapped in newspaper.

I used to stand outside the chipper

watch people queue,

hungered to be like them.

You beat me senseless.

the cane snapped in two 

as I bent over in apology.

You shouted that they

were common and poor,

and shop-bought

was a sin.

I lost all interest in food.

and spent years in therapy

learning how to eat.

Frail, Bald and Alone

The cold face of poverty

It was a wet November day
on the motorway to Cork.
Waiting at traffic lights
a tiny man shuffled towards me,
frail, bald and alone.

His piercing eyes beseeching,
palms outstretched, imploring.
His face ravaged with fear
his shame stirred shame in me
as I turned my face away,
I saw others do the same.

I felt awkward discomfort,
it changed rapidly
to a sickening fear
as the cold face of recession
the demise of my country
the pain of my people
stood before me
in this little man,
an ache so immense
I had buried it deep.
The bubble burst a year ago
but he had just burst mine.

Faced now with utter revulsion
abject anger towards our government
our bankers and developers
those sneaky golden circles
as my eyes met his
I saw my reflection.

For in his tiny frame,
I saw our fragile nation
a country on its knees
begging for a bail out.

In his isolation
I felt my vulnerability
huge impending loss
as my children face emigration.

In his baldness
I saw the naked masses
poverty and pain
still crushing us, the people

For this little man
is me.

Sunday Departures

It ‘s Sunday,
your day of departure
I wake in a panic.

We breakfast
listening to the radio,
silently reading newspapers.
I glance at you,
and that dreaded feeling
slinks in,
my heart sinking
to my stomach.

Time after time we say “goodbye”.
The longer you stay,
the harder the parting.
I will never get used to it,
How I wish there was an easier way.

Tickets, passport, the usual checks,
I smile, masking tears.
My whole being shrinks
my heart aching,
as we drive to the Air coach.
I break the silence apologising
“I don’t feel so well”
because I know it’s hard for you too.

With a kiss and a cuddle
you hold me tight,
fraught with emotions, I tremble.
I shudder you away
saying "we might skype later".
Head down, you enter the bus.
I turn, sobbing my way to the car
waving through a veil of tears.

I bite my lip,
breathe a heavy sigh
swiping my eyes with my hands.
My body heaves
all the way home.

I stand in our hallway
in deafening silence,
The house feels immense.
No husband, no children,
I wonder where have you all gone
and why am I still here
alone?

I feel an overwhelming tiredness
dragging myself upstairs.
Lying on the bed,
I receive a text from you saying
“I feel the same way,
I will be home again soon,
love you ”
and I cry,
I shed heartbroken tears
missing you,
missing us
of days and weeks alone,
wondering how many more years.

I'm wishing life away
to be with you,
as the cycle kickstarts anew.