My Father, Crawling across the Floor
He crawls across the floor. His dangling tie
Distracts the child. He hauls the child in the air
And swings it round, once, twice. He holds it high
Above his head. In the forest, a bear
Lurches towards the cabin. Almost night.
Goldilocks sits in the deepest chair
By the table working up an appetite.
Time starts up, judders and stops again,
Its flooded engine refusing to ignite.
We're conked out here, stuck in the slow lane
Of history, where my father comes home late
From work as always and will not complain.
Seventy-two hours he labours for the state
Weekdays, Saturdays, doing what, why, how,
We do not ask him, but accept his fate.
Time is forever in an endless Now
Except in dreams, anxieties, and school,
Though time ticks over far behind his brow
According to a superimposed rule
We touch when we touch him. We hear him roar
In distant forests where his masters drool
And lumber playfully across the floor.
Structure
22 lines · 8 stanzas