What is it even all for?
When the End Times come
the airtime
and savings
will be of little use.
Every day we lived
cost someone something.
At some times it was
money that cost us.
We paid our rent,
our food, our taxes,
clothes.
The leasehold of
our lives runs by
not to be renewed.
28/09/2020
—
This was a poem written in autumn, as the nights closed in earlier, the leaves piled up and, on one damp lunchtime walk, I stopped to look at a yellow dandelion flower in the pot-holed alleyway at the bottom of my road. “Is this all there is?” I asked the flower.
The practicalities of rent, National Insurance, pension, groceries, saving for a house deposit, the acceptance that perhaps this is all there is. This props up our ability to love those closest to us, to recall memories and make new ones, to explore the world when we can and perhaps that is also all there is.
—
This poem is included Necessary Work, a draft collection that BeadedQuill has in the wings. In the meantime have a look at Jangle between Jangle, a collection of verse written while jangling to-and-fro across London during the commute.
Follow BQ on the gram (@beadedquillwrites) and Facebook.
Find BQ’s books for sale via Blurb.
Beaded Quill 