Bed Fellows

Sometimes the memories

bump into each other

as you are trying to sleep.

It’s awkward

because the person with whom

you share the bed

has no notion

of what’s going on

inside your head

nor should they.

Steal away through the net

and hope you won’t offend.

Perhaps a drink

or read a book;

send an email, connect

until it goes away.

Discussion for another day.

The days get farther apart,

but the memories still bump

into each other

as you are trying to sleep.

It’s awkward.

John H Davies

20 X 2014

Brother (an elegy to Down’s syndrome)

I knew you not,

you, who time forgot,

while society denied

your opportunity to be

those things you might have been.

Much easier to have you hid away

and brought out on a rainy day

one Autumn, much like this:

My father brought me to the place

where you were kept.

“Wait here in the car” he said, and

(me, expecting you to come with him)

returned alone.

And then your stooping image

was gently led

into our field of view

along a covered walkway.

We sat and watched, as at some zoo

and I, unprepared,

had not the slightest notion

what to do, or say.

And nor I think did he.

And all too soon you’d

reached the end,

and soon your life.

But I recognised you.

And looking back,

I contemplate the fear

that held me in that moment,

wondering what might have been:

had I alighted from the car

and walked across

and touched your arm

and looked into those eyes

that could not see.

I doubt you would have

recognised me,

despite our shared craving

of them, that turned their backs

and to this day

smile awkward smiles

and look the other way.

And I regret my reticence.

7^th II 2014