Where does the wind go?
Where does the wind go,
When all blown out,
Do you know?
Does it run out of breath and lean red-faced,
Against the bended trunk of a winded tree?
Or haunt the stooping widow, by slamming doors
And snuffing out ‘the old man’s’ absence candle?
Does it lie on its tummy by the open fire
And flick the pages of a good book?
Or plump up the sofa cushions and ask,
‘Who’s been sitting in my chair?’
Does it howl like a child with the terrible twos
Stamp its feet, then fall asleep?
Or kick dry leaves in circles in the yard
Then beneath an upturned bucket, sulk and weep?
Does it choke back the tears of hurt
Turn its back and run to the hills?
Or grow bored and soar, soar
Above the clouds, to where the astronaut snores?
Perhaps it shatters in pieces against the wall
Then scatters like mercury across
The floor? Or jumps off the cliff and follows
Its dreams out to sea?
Where does the wind go, do you know?
Coffee and crumbs
They stand like
Upended ocean liners
Clutched from the seas
And thrust like harpoons
Into the ground. Their cabin lights
Sinking into the whirlpool
City depths below.
From which a lone fellow
Spinning. Falls.
His coat-tails
Flapping
Like broken wings.
A jumper.
On his way to a self-made grave
Who lost life’s footing,
Making headlines on the way.
Far from the prow
On which he once stood
So rich and proud
‘Beloved husband, son and father’
To those who knew him.
But not you.
Nor I.
Tomorrow we shall
Flick his story aside
With coffee and crumbs.
August 2016
Simon Denegri Poetry 