Hey, have you seen it?
I can’t find it anywhere
I thought I left it with my triumphs
I couldn’t find those either

It might be wedged between my trophies
I hate it when that happens

Or maybe it’s mixed up in my love letters
Or my performance reviews
Or my pay slips

Is it in my CV?

Ah, there it is!  How silly of me

It’s nestled in the neat pile of ballpoint pens, with lids, that write smoothly, first time
It’s in the cutlery drawer with a full complement of teaspoons and forks
It’s among the neatly paired socks, fresh from the line, no sock missing its partner
It’s among the dozen, perfectly iced cupcakes that were just the right size for their box
It’s on the dropped toast that landed honey-side up

And all the other impossible ordinary objects

Scared and small
Tiny fingers stretched
from trembling hands
Reducing
My near-invisible child

Loud and mean
Nasty onslaught aimed
in and outward
Maligning
My hardened cynic

Sad and lost
Streaming eyes held low
with purple sills
Anguishing
My grief ghost

Earnest and curious
Love for people, loud
and pulsing warm
Exhorting
My moral rebel

Strong and brave
Combat stance all force
in white-hot flame
Conquering
My elven queen

My inner fellowship
Child, cynic, ghost, rebel, queen
Present, at calm attention
Carrying matchless lessons
Pulling in rare directions
Born of distinct conditions
All in service of me

Does that answer your question?

Pour me another, to recess we go,
Tender the whiskey or beer in my hand
Feelingless furlough with barleycorn glow

Hazard as high as perception is low
Don’t tell my mother, she won’t understand
Pour me another, to recess we go

Scars are clothes-covered and flesh wounds don’t show
Hide all my bruises, pretend that I’m grand
Feelingless furlough with barleycorn glow

Don’t call my mother, she won’t want to know
More to these feelings than she would have planned
Pour me another, to recess we go

Call the Mourne Mountains, and rosin the bow
Rattle the bog and the black velvet band
Pour me another, to recess we go

Don’t tell my mother, she still doesn't know
Sentiment-soaked more than she could withstand
Pour me another, to recess we go,
Feelingless furlough with barleycorn glow

It raises hopes again, steady the sway of it,
no victory in the game, it’s just the play of it.

It makes you drop your guard, it’s not the battle’s end,
no capture of the land, it’s just the lay of it.

No time for winding down, for optimistic ease,
no loosing of this knot, it’s just the fray of it.

You’ve seen this one before, in rosy camouflage,
it’s neither black nor white, it’s just the grey of it.

As good as you admit, as wicked as you think,
no ending of the world, it’s just the way of it.

.
Published by Trash to Treasure Lit, April 1, 2025

Barbies wear muselet helmets
Sherlock journals clues
Cricket-stump bin clinks dismissal
Bread is hard with mouldy middle
Cheese is soft with tinted velvets
All in greens and blues

Newspapers a carpet curtain
Other signs of note
Sinks drain-weary, veiled by dishes
Door blocked from unseen militias
Ashtrays strain with liquid burden
Mangled ends afloat

Late-night fry exudes lard landslide
Interesting leads
Window signs of blunt force impact
Latches show no signs of contact
Perpetrated from the inside
Casual misdeeds

Bottles strewn with empty glasses
Evidence galore
Christmas tree is snapped, now supine
Couch chair at confusing incline
Wasting roast potato passes
Solo on the floor

Shrouded dark in grown-up questions
Case remains unsolved
Pre-teen sherlocks are defeated
Unaware that help is needed
Claiming all adult transgressions
Guilelessly involved

Knowledge comes with maturation
Young gumshoe, take heart
Heavy is the comprehension
Adulthood in wise dimension
Toughest form of education
Living will impart

Trauma is by drink upstaged
Of subterfuge beware
Brace yourself for understanding
Bottle is a sly red herring
Denouement is disengaged
You won’t find it there

Life perspective is revealing
Sooner follow pain
Core of more investigation
Drink was only compensation
Obfuscating tricky healing
Alloyed with the leaden feeling
Undiscovered chain

You were just a fledgling hawkshaw
Grant yourself some grace
Rest the blame that you digested
Drop the anger you invested
Hopping off the guilt-rage seesaw
‘Case closed’ in its place

Sobriety is overrated
Bottle recess for your mind
Pain and time are complicated
Pain and mind are lubricated
Time and mind in competition
Time and pain aligned

Little drops of consolation
Shiny sparkly pools of bliss
Softly viewed through condensation
Revenants by invitation
Bottle-born in resurrection
Noone else to miss

There exists the true addiction
Passing time with those you lost
Pain is not the real affliction
Loss of love holds little friction
Time can pass in all directions
Overlook the cost

Bottles as chrono-transporter
Meaningless in time and pain
Chosen over bricks and mortar
Home inside the pain exporter
Caught inside the time remover
Genie trapped again

Traps are not a solo prison
Bottle is no picky thief
Locked outside your final mission
Circumscribed to watch and listen
Grasping as the brown glass darkens
Wading into grief