If I spent as long writing new poems as I do looking back through old ones to find something to post on the blog, I’d probably end up with a lot more to choose from.
That said, today’s was a relatively easy choice: despite the rich, bright colours, autumn is a melancholy season, so a poem about absence seems appropriate.
Things I do
when you’re not here: I stay up
half the night with Marlowe,
Smiley and other men
you don’t approve of, trying to find
distraction in their mysteries.
When I do sleep, I lie
on your side of the bed
so when I wake, it’s me
who’s missing. I talk about you
to the cat and hope she won’t forget.
I binge on carbohydrate
comfort foods then worry
about gaining weight. Feeling sorry
for the single cup and saucer
on the draining board, I let
the washing up pile high
to keep them company. I wear
the last T-shirt you wore
before you left, its fibres impregnated
with your memory; then I pretend
that sleeves are arms
and that you hold me
while I sleep.