The Tuesday Poem: Cumulus

1. My pity is the self

that is left on the shelf

with all the crockery

that is no use to me.

My pity is not for you.

You took your life with you,

What’s left behind isn’t mine.

I am waiting for a sign.

My pity is for us both

Togetherness is a remote

constellation where, God knows,

time and space in peace repose.

2. My clouds with you were all low-lying.

And when they broke, they refreshed the earth.

Now the clouds are all high flying.

They pass by absorbed by your worth.

My hypocrite of ‘I’m fine’.

Spitting rumours on the grapevine,

you kept up your sense of fun,

in sidestepping the long run.

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