[Image from Pinterest]
Frank crooning, ever performing, while dogs
sit mooning, drooling for that bite of toast
left on the plate. Peaceful these days that boast
time – time for pleasure, measure of games, cogs
turning in the mechanism (like logs
burning in the grate, counting seconds). Most
of all she liked the pause, a breath of coast
and memory of seaside walks, just the dogs
and them, hand in hand, feet bare in the sand.
Eyes study him over rim of mug: where did
it go, that love? Playing house now, the band
of easy listening a salve for problems,
aural gauze to hide the wound; lid
to truth of their broken bond, faded love.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]