HALF PAST HINDSIGHT
I put on my green hood last night,
found my old favourite glasses
in a clutter-draw at the bottom of my bed.
they’ve got vodka-orange frames, crisp-brown burned
like the corners of grandfather’s photographs
and the flecks of paint brush bristles
grown long down my cheeks and round my chin.
I made a call to an old favourite friend
but he said I had the wrong number;
I redialled it right and waited for the beep –
but I didn’t leave a message,
his profile picture was far too crowded
by teeth and tongues.
I looked out the window to find the time;
could only hear the rain
settling on the rusty pocket watch,
one slow-hand ticking round the faded face.
it must have been counting midnight-seconds.
I put on my old favourite glasses
and went to bed to wait for sunrise,
when the little grey-white rabbit
would finish his whiskey
and wander away contented
through the fence crack at the bottom of the garden.