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Poem

In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
where a newborn child was suckled, there.
Then, while a mother gently brushed my hair,
father read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh Bear.

Later, it became a galloping horse at county fair,
a sheet tossed over transformed into a pirate lair.
Sometimes, it was a rocket for Digby and Dan Dare.
A space for reading torchlit tales designed to scare.

Once, in the den, while lazing in the chair
Is where I first heard Simon Stewart swear
"S**t, bugger arsehole, I don't care."
He said, but as for me, I did not dare.

I studied A's on E's quoted from Voltaire
read Descartes and voted Tony Blair
Sprayed purple dye on tall spiked hair
Rocking gently, floating in mid-air.

A broken heart, a broken love affair
I tried to end it all once in that chair
The world hates me, and I hate it; life's so unfair
I'm still here but always have that cross to bear.

Dreams of becoming rich, a millionaire,
was I just building castles in the air
while rocking with a gin and tonic in that chair.
Then, later, I woke up the worse for wear.

I now have children of my own, a pair
We sit, for I have much to tell and much to share
About love, life, and death; how to prepare;
and read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh bear.

In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
I wonder how it ended up in there?
The younger generation doesn't seem to care;
but then again, why should they, to be fair!

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