b y A l a n M c C o r m i c k
Is there anything else as sad
as a lonely man wearing
sideboards above his head
like a bunnygirl wears her ears?
He walks in raised steps
like a game of pick-up-sticks,
his hands firmly in pockets,
feeling stones for comfort.
An old three-piece-suite
dumped on the side of the street,
as forlorn as a left-behind smile,
whispers for him to come and sit down.
“Rest your weary legs and bum,
you sad little man,” says the three-piece-suite
with a sofa for a head,
and two easy-ear-chairs on either side.
The bunnygirl sideboardman checks no one is looking
and falls into the sofa,
letting its arms wrap around him
like upholstery muffs on a cold lounge day.
He sits there with the sofa and chairs,
watching the infinite snow space unravel infront of him,
and remembers a blood-sun day when he
and his love cuddled together to watch tv.
No longer alone, memories a kind of comfort cushion,
he smiles and falls into a long warming sleep:
the three-piece-suite and he leave the world of snow,
no footsteps or marks left in the deep below.