4. CW’s poems to AL

May 6, 2018

What is love made of?, by Chris Walsh

It is made of watching your father

Smack you

Then later cry

Inspecting the red mark.

It is made of comforting your mother

In a rockingchair with your little sister

Because she is too bright, too clever

To be a 70’s housewife.

It is remembering seeing your father laugh

His socks off

Reading a book of jokes

One of the only times.

It is hearing them arguing downstairs

And then hearing strange noises from the bedroom.

 

Before Prozac, by Chris Walsh

There was nothing to be done

Just dips lasting months

Clown to ghoul

Ghoul to clown

And believing it all

Taking it to heart

As solid reality

That I, or the world (or both) were faulty,

And malign.

 

One summer evening I went to Asda

With my mum.

For no reason

I started thinking Canaletto

JMW Turner

Constable

They were brimming within.

Colour was. Grandeur.

 

We loaded the car.

Got in.

I noticed the clouds over Middlesbrough

Looked painted

By a great artist

Whether God

Or man.

Whoever,

I loved the earth just then.

Humanity

poured like rain.

 

I couldn’t contain myself

And told my mum.

She looked at me, and said;

“You’re a soppy bugger, love.”

Then we drove home.