WHO ARE YOU

[Maureen K Clifford]

WHO ARE YOU



He was like a bloody snowflake that falls quick then melts away
like a sharp and shiny icicle on a hot summers day,
as he sat inside his ice hotel drinking bourbon on the rocks
the air full of frigidity – cold as his drinks ice blocks.

He’d been up all night, regardless of the deadlines whooshing past;
rocking around the Christmas tree thinking it was a blast
to be at the office party where the booze and food were free,
and the girls skirts were much shorter than they ever used to be.

He really fancied Robin though she didn’t fancy him
and had he been still sober, then his thoughts would not be dim;
but seeing is believing, though she smiled, the brush she gave
and threatened him with old St Nick if he did not behave.

Seems a conspiracy of silence had crept into the room.
The band had stopped, people had left, he sat there in the gloom.
Nobody knew he lived his life behind computer screens
gloating over images, pictures lewd and obscene.

They think he is a normal bloke an inoffensive type
the kind that just gets frisky when the demon drink does bite.
Dead to the world the young ones think – bet he goes Morris dancing
and they snicker as they whisper at their visions of him prancing.

But he lives here with others who share his sick desires
with his digital dreams before him – stoking internal fires
in this city of smoke and mirrors, with its nameless, homeless faces
who are not missed for ten seconds. They have lost their social places.

The headlines in the paper screamed out the shocking news
of the bodies found of children all most horribly abused.
His workmates at the office were horrified and kept repeating
that who would ever think it, surely seeing is believing.

But in truth what do we see as we go about our lives?
we are focusing internally - our own problems survive.
Do we ever really notice? If we did life would be sweeter.
Could it be perhaps that you were once a neighbour of Black, Peter.


Maureen Clifford © 12/10