"demob" poems
In black and white and shades of grey,
They stand there, the dicky bird watching few.
The groom in the ill fitting demob suit, shoes polished with spit.
The bride, voluptuous in white brocade clutching the fading blooms.
Her father, proud, reluctant to smile, relinquishing loving care of his little girl.
Best man, a real rocker, with dark flirting eyes, slicking back black hair.
Two young girls, pretty book ends to the nuptial scene,
Short skirts and coiffured hair, clutching flower strewn prayer books in gloved palms.
I am there, the only one left standing, remembering little of that day.
But how I hated that PINK dress.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
With due diligence she completes her task
Her fluorescent pen working flat out
Multi coloured no less adding importance
Then staples bashed and ready to go
There seems now a delight in her work
Demob happy counting down the days
Tearing the days of the desk diary
September will be here soon enough
I then imagine her retirement writing labels
Plants with little tags in the garden
Jars neatly stacked, labels all compliant
A new found order to disorder
An organised mind conquering the world
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC