Carol’s sister Brenda

There are no ghosts
no Christmas past
only flashes we can’t
recognise
because they go to fast.

There is no present
underneath the tree
because
we sold the future
in order
to be free.

This conversation’s for one,
a solo
operation,
an under occupied
occupation
it’s always a vacant
situation
when the empty cab’s
for hire.

And then there’s dire warnings
about floods and global
warming,
‘no harm in that’,
says the cat with nine
lives.

I become the pessimist
in trying to be the artist
and
day by day I age away

time is very cruel to
the wise man and the fool
in equal measures.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.