Delaying the Inevitable

He rakes the soil and picks off stubborn weeds and lays a cane across the flower bed. Pressing down, he makes a shallow drill and waters where the seeds will soon be spread. He picks the seeds his kids had bought for him and spaces them with care along the line. He stops a while to try and catch his breath, then slowly stands and marks the row with twine.  His clothes hang loose from his cachetic frame; the doctors say the cancer has now spread. He’s sowing plants he will not live to see, as are we all.

Midlife Crisis When I was young I often thought I’d be a plucky astronaut But the wildest trips I’ve had to date Have been on the A68 When I was young I thought there’d be Just one true love out there for me But I didn’t have to travel far I married Sheila from HR When I was young I thought there’d be No need for sleep for folks like me, And in the end I was kinda right The baby stays up half the night When I was young I didn’t see What the future had in hold for me A doughy joke, devoid of plans With a CV written in comic sans When I was young my life was great Without so much dumped on my plate Without the pressure bearing down On my shitty house in this shitty town Pressure to try and clear my debts Pressure to give up cigarettes Pressure to bring the kids up right Pressure to make verse rhyme and scan And as my time slowly advances I’m looking out for second chances To start to wrestle back control To pull me out

You were my first             I hope you didn't realise at the time             fumbling ,  flustered, faltering                        you probably did Totally different from what I expected             fear in my eyes             and in yours                        till the end Chaos followed by silence             a silence so complete, so pure, so absolute                                       and then back to work             replaying events in my head                                                           for a week Things are different now             but I won't forget             you never do                                   your   first unsuccessful resuscitation  

Our writing prompt this week was "I could never tell". Did two pieces in the end because I couldn't ignore Trump *shudders* So there's a Santa and Trump medley. ********** I could never tell my kids the truth about Santa. It’d break their little hearts. In our short lives the feeling of wonder should be treasured, protected for as long as possible, like a delicate nestling. Why break the illusion now?  There’s plenty of time for that when they’re grown up. But what if they se e some thing?  A half-awake glimpse in  the shadows?  And then it hits them, the fat, jolly red-suited man isn’t who they thought he was all along. No,  siree  Bob.  Underneath that furry crimson costume beats the callous heart of a monster. We’ve all heard the reports. He runs that North Pole factory like a Victorian workhouse.  Those queues of elves, spending hours going through security at the start and end of their shifts.   They’re nowhere near the Living wage. They don’t have a