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.
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