Box Room

First the welcoming. Smiles all round. A space
For handshakes. Then she put me in my place –
(Oh, with concern for my comfort). ‘This room
Was always his – when he comes home
It’s here for him. Unless of course,’ she said,
‘He brings a Friend.’ She smiled ‘I hope the bed
Is soft enough? He’ll make do tonight
In the lounge on the put-u-up. All right
For a night or two. Once or twice before
He’s slept there. It’ll all be fine I’m sure –
Next door if you want to wash your face.’
Leaving me ‘peace to unpack’ she goes. My weekend case
(Lightweight, glossy, made of some synthetic
Miracle) and I are left alone in her pathetic
Shrine to your lost boyhood. She must
Think she can brush off time with dust
From model aeroplanes. I laugh it off in self defence,
Who have come for a weekend to state my permanence.

Peace to unpack – but I found none
In this spare room which once contained you. (Dun-
Coloured walls, one small window which used to frame
Your old horizons). What can I blame
For my unrest, insomnia? Persistent fear
Elbows me, embedded deeply here
In an outgrown bed (Narrow, but no narrower
Than the single bed we sometimes share).
On every side you grin giltedged from long-discarded selves
(But where do I fit into the picture?) Your bookshelves
Are crowded with previous prizes, a selection
Of plots grown thin. Your egg collection
Shatters me – (plover, robin, songthrush, magpie,
Wren, assorted seabirds) labelled carefully, sucked dry
Years ago – that now you have no interest
In. (You just took one from each, you never wrecked a nest,
You said). Invited guest among abandoned objects, my position
Is precarious, closeted so – it’s dark, your past a premonition
I can’t close my eyes to. I shiver despite
The electric blanket and the deceptive mildness of the night.