A man tired from the waking day
hangs his keys on the beaded hook,
lets the hat off his grateful head.
He places himself in front of the table
where he laid down his papers,
his skins and his skin.
He put on the table, the day's characters,
mulled them over in the electronic hum of Aleph and coffee flavoured eyes,
rolled them up tight with tomorrow's fears
and set them alight.
He put there a glass ashtray to catch the embers of regret.
He put on the table his dear friend, Old Man Wibble,
the bedlamite seer,
drunken oracle,
"liquid Jesus, straight from the bottle"
and longed for a glass to raise.
He put there the smoke from his exasperated lungs
and the wistful music of his tired throat,
he put there every last syllable and every letter left lingering on a lost lovers lips.
He put hope on the table,
for the weight might crush him as he sat
but not the table,
solid under this load,
to bear weight is what a table must do
and tomorrow will always bring another pile.

No matter how hard I try
I cannot speak
I cannot write
I cannot live

If you cannot find strength to keep pushing along
On the right track or wrong
The beliefs and feelings you believed you once knew
All that in your mind the only thing stopping you

you taught her
to shut up

to keep quiet

to know her place

to nod and agree

and to never, ever
disobey you.



when the police
came knocking
on your door

and they asked her
where you had been,

you expected her
to state your alibi.



you expected her
to speak up for you,

but you had taught her
to never speak at all.



that was your
fatal mistake.

Sounds, how strange
Great and small
Struggling to pinpoint them all
As they surround
Each making itself known

Clacking of fingers across a keyboard
Near silent whir of the air conditioner
Hum of the refrigerator
Chatter and occasional cry of a housemate
Thundering of small paws above
Clicking and clacking of dog nails against hard wood floors
Voices from a computer screen
The occasional car whizzing past the street
The brief notes of a viola a room over
The flapping of the dog door
Creak of a door
Adjusting in the chair
Sighs of the dogs and people alike

Tired eyes blink slowly
Hands ever so stiff
Back aching, begging for movement
Feet and legs long since numb

Nothing is silent
Not in this time
Nor in this place

- Jay M
December 7th, 2020

‘I’ve something to tell you...
I kissed someone else.’
‘You kissed someone else?!
That can’t be true, who?’

‘How could you not notice me,
you had many chances to see...
I don’t know what I want,
but this is honesty.’

He storms away, slamming door
out into the night. Then -

‘I’m sorry, your actions are yours but
it’s my fault you’re there...
please, I’ll get help, be your friend
I’ll get better, I swear...’

‘I love you’ says he
‘Why, truthfully?’
‘You’re so beautiful...
I don’t want to fail..’
But beautiful is a trophy, a conquest
and marriage isn’t a contest.

Actually, I now see
The kissing of someone else
was me, breaking free.
I’d broken long ago
his promises felt hollow
I was clutching at saving me.

My joy, our family, our life
all millstones to him,
burden and strife.
The endless trying, ideas and hope,
Fell on deaf ears - I was just the wife.

Then I stuck around, tried,
grief searing inside.
Let him touch me (excruciatingly)
give flowers and hold me...
but it was gone with old tides.

And simple jealousy tipped him?
Got to be kidding me.

I'd like to be your day
Well planned and smooth
I'd probably get in the way
The doctor wouldn't approve
I'd like to be your star
God knows you're mine
Just be who you are
And that would be fine

The advice was
'Support him,
try to help him.
He needs sleep when he’s tired
(even if it’s all day).'
'Try to talk to him,
he’s hurting inside.
Help him,
he needs you.'

I believed that,
and I tried.
I tried until
I felt almost gone
My words disappeared!
A glass pane formed
between myself and the world.

I didn't know
I could go too far.
Give too much support.
No-one says that,
who would have thought?

I didn’t know
support can become a crutch.
He could settle,
no need to improve.
Who would have thought?

Depression is real.
It just doesn’t mean
that you are first always,
or that you don't need to try
or talk to your spouse.
That was just -
taking advantage.