Watch The Road

I had exhorted myself
not to watch –
but my capacity to let
myself down
wins old momentum’s
slow ways/
A four-times-father-of../
More times
worse with [or without]
four of my own
on an uneven grey road/
I am alone –
having left her ring from
my limp finger/
She exited - from home/
I wait [bare]
without a firearm on us
[in my palm]/
No weapons left - apart
our deaths/
On that road from home
breath tires/
Pull - breathe out & watch
The Road


A poem about ‘The Road‘ – a film based upon Cormac McCarthy’s novel. I had promised myself never to watch it, but recent events have dulled my sensibilities

Also on Medium

TV

As long as we can
afford a fineless
subscription to Netflix
we can be assured
that our emaciated
high definition lives
are not falling apart
as much as those
in Series One Two
and then tired sequels
which follow on and on
This life is but a trailer
of endless streams
in which we crumple
on our part-paid sofas
hoping not to be seen

Box Set

We are drunk-slumped
drugged by red wine
and the wide screen
into the L-shaped sofa

that and the sequential playback
of episodes long ago watched

It is a life now rewound
made so unstoppable
by a misplaced remote

Time no longer exists
for us
the once-tuned
to watersheds and news
played only on the hour

We don’t pace ourselves
with the TV breaks

Instead it’s consumed
in bibulous retakes