The Tuesday Poem: Gathering Dust

All over our home we’re gathering dust like abandoned cars clothed in sea-air rust or kitchen table peppered with tobacco ash; our aged home-made bookcase fades to grey, a veil has settled on this life of me and you.

Our wedding photo leans against a wall, remains unhung (family portraits conceal by means of artful, trained grimace); candles remain unlit or spend themselves on bottles of wine and cheap Sambuca.

Strangers are not invited in to view where detritus washes up: corners’ mugs of month-old tea, under the sofa’s jigsaw pieces, Lego, unmentionables,things-that-should-not-be that defy

occasional light-of-day examination for we’ve better things to do, clear the grate and set the fire, make room for friends. All else can go to hell for we attend to vitals when we drink and sing and screw.

* Alan Garvey is from Waterford City. This poem is taken from his latest chapbook, Avalanche of Shadow.