Two Poems

The Shoplifter 

 

Lost, forlorn, alone and weary. 

Neatly buttoned cardigan 

And worn old jacket, 

Not enough thread left to keep out the cold. 

The wind

 

As grey as the weekly washing  

He now had to take to the laundry. 

His wife had died, you see,  

And he just couldn’t quite manage  

without her. 

 

That’s why he took the clothes, 

Which he laid out on her side of the bed. 

Slowly, with shaking hands, 

He took out her photograph, yet again

Crumpled, like his face, it was

And stained with the tea 

That she had made for him these forty-six years. 

 

He already sees the world through a window of tears. 

How can you think of adding bars? 

​

© Anni Walsh 2005

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Almost 

 

I almost rang you today. 

I almost said I loved you. 

But you were in a hurry, 

And you said you were busy. 

I said some things were more important than being in a hurry. 

And you said nothing then, 

But that you’d ring me back. 

The conversation didn’t go well. 

So I never rang, 

And you never rang back. 

​

© Anni Walsh 2005