…In Absentia (IV) ‘He didn’t say mass once’…

Who’s in charge of the night shift?
The dancers stretch, and yawning follows swift.
There’s no logical order to their departure.
The tangent falls to pieces, a call to arms if ever there were one.

Bear arms are cultured, meticulously groomed.
And not polite dinner conversation when the lights are on.
The measuring jug smacks of something left undone.
Vultures circling want ads in my living room.

Again.. .

It’s not just the rota that causes these stirrings.
If it were simple it’d be done by now.
Presence isn’t how I’ll ring in the Advent.
Different because of the spelling, isn’t it.

Fingers flex and shuffle
Out of key, what’s left in stock?
Abstract poverty in A minor.
Postulate with consideration, drink responsibly.

And be fabulously Merry.


 

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