After the Storm

Orange Mess abstract painting

A poem from about 10 years ago

After the storm
There is a puddle in my garden.
In the puddle
There is next door’s trousers
They are dark and grey
and meant for chapel
or officiating
at funerals
The legs
they normally contain
are old now
but still roadworthy
just about

After the storm
he is smiling
even though
he has to re-wash
his trousers
There’s at least
half a dozen
ceremonies
left
in them
And maybe
more in him
but he’s not so sure
so he won’t buy
a new pair
just
yet

He doesn’t want to rob his grandchild.

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