What's Right?

Football’s on, the playoffs begin.

He sits on his chair and opens his tin.

It’s not the same without a brew or two, to chug in your mouth and loosen the screw.

Apprehensive about what is to come

The game replacing a life that is numb.

To the touch, to the feel

Now fake once real.

Nobody’s fault especially him

He did nothing wrong

He did nothing wrong.

Touchdown and cheer

Another beer?

Not this time as the others make it perfectly clear

That he is not one not really, not ever

His life is in shreds

To ignore that’s not clever.

But she sees him for what he once was and could be

Not what he is now, failed potentially.

White teeth, blonde hair, muscles and charm

Living inside him arm over arm.

Past pictures of smiles and days at the beach, laughing and joking and full of potential

Lie idle upon the mantle beside

His place that has now become prime residential.

Immovable objects both body and mind

Stuck in a cycle held fast

Try as she does, to remember his touch

Brings pain and pathos allied to what’s passed.

Elsewhere is hope, elsewhere is vision

The unknown charm of the unknown winks and nods and says how do you do?

To the woman who’s future is already blown.

That’s how it appears as she views the chair

The one holding him and his now greying hair

The one holding the man who promised so much

And failed to deliver on such.

A favour, however, that turned out to be

Delivered and received obliviously

Neither giver nor taker understanding it’s value

Until it’s lesson was stamped on her arm

And her eyes were opened to the true disposition

That dwelled in her heart and her soul and position

Before this never spoken or allowed to exist

How could it if it were merely the breeze in the mist?

While outside of herself she admitted

To never knowing her worth

Or claiming to have hold on the future

Not allied to others – them first.

Habits and doctrine, the old arm in arm

Blindly followed and presented with charm

Becomes a chore after years of practice

The shine wears thin.

Halftime beckons and still not a stir

The beer is warm, the immovable bear

Warm in its cave and snug as it rests

The questions ignored, not sitting the tests.

He did nothing wrong.

He did nothing wrong.

Not even the sound of the air rushing in

Cleaning the old world down

Disturbs the level of concentration

Required to acknowledge life’s frowns.

She smiles at her past, the future still thin

And out from the void she departs

Gaining weight by degrees as her true self stretches it’s limbs

And says good morning to the birds and the trees.

She did something right.

She did something right.