Not Lost in France

The plaster ducks winged their way to an unknown destination. Joseph watched them as they flew silently over the hearth just above the time worn photos of Ethel. How far away it seemed, the days when spring sunlight bounced through the lace curtains bringing smiles to their once young lives. In those days they had never hesitated to go for a long country walk breathing in greenery, picking wild fruit and wading through silver streams. Joseph looked blankly at his paper. Headlines that spelt joy and disaster throughout the world. He yawned and stretched out his legs shaking off the cramp that was only too ready to keep him prisoner for the afternoon.Summing up his courage he made his way to the kitchen. On the table, a cup of cold tea waited beside the even colder bacon sandwich. He took a nibble from the sandwich and reached for the flat-cap that had kept his head warm throughout many winters. He stepped out into the yard closing the door of the kitchen ever so carefully. He had no real idea where he should go, but the scent of sea air decided for him. He walked without hurrying looking at those that crossed his way.Young women pushing their children in overloaded pushchairs, children running and screaming toward the fun-fair and its even noisier music. He decided to turn left and headed toward the quieter part of this once well known holiday resort.It wasn’t long before he found himself with others of his age. They exchanged knowing glances as they hobbled along the seafront. Joseph had lived all of his life on the north east -coast and the wind that whistled around his fragile body stirred many memories, even those he had thought forgotten. Young girls in the sand dunes, stolen kisses, the first time, he smiled inwardly his head bowed to avoid inquiring gazes.He would have liked to stop off at the Red Lion but it had been shut down three years ago. His old mates from the steel works had settled into another cosier pub but it was too far away for Joseph. He sighed and continued his slow but sure path.
He must have walked for more than an hour before feeling the cold wind biting its way through the heavy trench coat. He cursed the weather as raindrops accompanied the wind. "Time to go home I suppose" He retraced his footsteps, following the old and weary, who, huddled in their own despair,strove to reach the warmth of their homes. The children who were playing football in the alley did not even give him a glance, nor did his neighbour despite the years they had known each other. He pushed the creaking backyard gate open and made sure that the shed was firmly closed. He could hear the television droning on in the backroom where Ethel had remained seated during his walk.He took of his cap and shrugged away the heavy trench coat.The tea was still cold, Ethel usually made a hot cup for when he entered, but that was before. Coronation Street had just started, Ethel stared into the screen a slight smile crossing her lips when Joseph sat down on his time worn leather armchair. "Alright love?" muttered Ethel. "Alright, bit cold" whispered Joseph then he settled back to watch the television.The plaster ducks had watched dumbly, winging their way to other horizons as Joseph sat down.
How long had the tea been cold, the bacon sandwich left to dry on the formica covered table. No one knocked on the door. No one worried about the letters that went without an answer, the newspapers that formed a pyramid in the entry and the steelworks that hid the odours that crept throughout the house behind its own. The plaster ducks continued their flight above the hearth where the once young couple had been caught in a Kodak smile . It had been three months now, Ethel never changed channels and Joseph had continued his day to day routine. The fact is, Ethel, was no more than an illusion. Her death had brought a leadened silence to the two up two down. Joseph had followed very quickly but nobody had noticed not even their own kids. Joseph stretched his aching body and moved toward the stairs, "going to bed Ethel". "Alright love" came the reply. Strange smell he thought as he crossed over the ever dampening pile of unread newspapers and headed upstairs.

My Poem "Blue Eyes" has been published in the following magazine :)

http://scarednakedmagazine.com/main.htm

Not sure if you'll like it? Why? Well it shows that I have a dark side. But there again who doesn't?

 

Blue Eyes..

 

Your skin once so

fair

now laced

with red

Your once

blue eyes

iced

with deaths regard

Your

last breath

as I

withdrew

the finely honed

blade

from your

spreaded thighs

The smile

I thought I’d

seen

Then

the silence of

your muted

lips as you

thanked

me for

your

release.

 

David English © July 1st 2002.