These Hollows, John Grey

There’s a place beside you      
where I imagined I would sleep.   

I am at the computer
as usual,
squashing the failed poems in my hand,
tossing them onto the floor,
imagining them dropping into
that sweet abyss
circling your dreams.

There’s a place beside you
like a bed of marigolds
where I can see me
being the brightest, most sun-like one.
There’s a place beside you
like a brightly lit landing strip
on a black night
with my fantasy plane hovering overhead
unable to believe its luck.

But I’m at the computer,
the silent phone’s second cousin,
delivering my message
to the scars on my finger-tips.
I’m at the computer
pounding away
like an insomniac’s heart.

There’s a place beside you
decorated with the work
I aspire to.
But I’m at the computer
making my lonely nest
with the best that I can do.

 

"You've Been Played" by Eleanor Bennett