The Table

The table, says Paolo

Used to be an altar

It was sacramental

Where the body and blood

Was truly shared

It was a confessional

Where all was forgiven

The Prodigal welcomed

Where you came in wanting

And left fulfilled

Where you met in communion

Bitterness laid aside

Differences suspended

Where strangers were welcomed

Where to have was celebrated

And to have not was left at the door

Where we shared and served each other

Where need came before appetite.

The table was strong

It would last a lifetime

It drew us back.

A romantic view perhaps.

Now we eat off our knees

Alone, silently, before a screen.

Voices Off

Dry today with a powder blue sky

A low sun paints rubber plant shadows on the back wall

I ignore the “to do” list and read to John Coltrane

“You should be outside on day like this” voices my mother

“Got his nose stuck in a book again” mutters my father.

I could be sweeping up fallen leaves

Brushing the muddy path

Raking the moss

A fire perhaps to glorify a windless winter day.

But no, I stick with my book

The “to do” list hovering on my shoulder

There are times here when even the sun can try to make you feel guilty.

A version of this was published in the Live from Worktown 2015 anthology

Wine Bar in Worktown

I am sitting in the Worktown wine bar

Wondering if my wine is corked

Wondering whether to complain

Wondering if I can be bothered

Wondering why I can’t be bothered.

In other words just filling the afternoon

Wondering not doing.

The girl behind the counter busies herself.

She’s doing. She’s wiping tables, filling sugar bowls.

She’s re-arranging the trays of cakes and tarts.

She is not saying “I like my work”

She is saying “I take pride in my work.”

In other words she has a sense of purpose.

Doing not wondering.

He walks in from the desert steppes and pull his coat round tight.

The sun is disappearing and soon there’ll be no light. He’s just hoping for a crevice to hide in for the night.

Moonlight floods an avenue, lights up a barren wall. He feels exposed, and pauses, as if waiting for a call.

His senses strain but really he can’t hear anything at all.Read more