Out There
The new veranda is unfinished and unwalled
but various chairs and a paint-splattered table
are placed out there in unfettered spaciousness
by impatience to savour realizations approach.
The mind easily fills in the rest but finds
it doesn’t care to; this open merry display
of anticipation is breeze-buffeted, hence a thing,
and exulted in sunlight for passers-by to see.
Our laughter is clappered off bare concrete
and hobnobs with the croaking of the crows on high;
not near yet neither far but on equal terms of Here.
Unique: this consciously coming into being
to decadent sips of prematurely popped
golden bubbly; it was you popped the question
if there’s any point in actual completion
which had us laughing uproariously at the time.
Paul Ings born Bournemouth 1971, Poetry in The Reader, The Interpreter’s House, Salzburg Poetry Review, South, etc., anthologies: Hildegard (Poetry on the Lake), (Hammond House) and Cornwall (Palores Publications), translations of Czech poetry (BODY Literature), and reviews in Czech journal Plav.