Thursday Nights

THURSDAY NIGHTS Her game was whist, Whilst mine the window vigil Empty dark and wet Blackness and pools of light Lone nine year old watchman Eyestrain through the rain Glued to the glass The city would not give her up Till 10:20 pm exactly 10:20 exactly. Not 10:23, 10:27, Panic if after 11:00. Unnamed unknown terror Could cause her loss Her game was whist. I never understood it. How could you know Where the trumps lay? She could handle the uncertainty. I became a bridge-playing man. Same game, but the lie of the cards Was more certain, more exact. ............................................................... NOTE An autobiographical snippet. As a child I always worried overly whenever my lone parent was out of sight, even for her regular Thursday night whist-playing session a mile away across town. I spent many long hours at the window to catch sight of her walking home.