This is Where We Live

Behind this door a man is dying
Even while we speak or write.
There are no sounds – the dog’s been taken.
There is no news. Apparently
He wants to leave without good-byes.
His door is shut and will not open
Except for that ultimate time.

This is where we live.

Across the street: That is the lady
Whose husband used to mayor this town.
She is well known, sings in the choir.
Just like the boy from down the road
Who on a drunken Friday night
Out with his mates assaulted her
Apologizing while he struck.

This is where we live.

From downstairs we hear the voices.
We discern the pitch and metre,
The sounds, if not the words, of strife.
Will we detect the hint of something
In their faces, in their looks
When next we greet each other going
Up the steps to the parking bay?

This is where we live.

This is the man who walks his spaniels,
Walks them in gumboots every day.
Cigar in mouth he mumbles greetings
Head held high, he saunters on.
He ran a bank – into the ground
And now he may not leave the country.
Or so they say. Or so they say.

This is where we live and wonder.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Kallis Poems and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to This is Where We Live

  1. Quite a tribute, Roland – sad.

  2. Kallis says:

    Very kind, Polly. How can you always be so incredibly quick to respond? (I think of you often as I don’t think I’ve met many people who are such generous givers as you are – and I work in a profession which tends to attract potential givers.)

  3. Made me think of “Eleanor Rigby” by the Beatles with the different characters in the narrative…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s