Sitting and Reading

In that room where my mother sits
I read on a Saturday night instead of socializing
My mother has even gone out with my sister
She sits there all week and nods off in the evenings
In front of the TV but she does not have my array of demons
Whispering failure into my ear as I read an apt phrase or a telling line

I should be with you, holding your hand as we have a relaxing drink or meal Or talking of plans, for the kids and holidays together
But that is all lost to me, too late to change now,
Too old and used, worn in the face with a balding pate
Stock phrases, boring with just suppressed love and hate
Trying to stay sober and sane, believing that it gets better
That something will give and leave you happier
But what, a good book with a cup of tea on a Saturday night
No longer looking you up, given up the ritual fight

The company of strangers in a bar or lounge
No longer appeals, did it ever, a poor standby
But make friends, they know and I know that bar room friendships
Fuelled by alcohol are fleeting and go up with the cigarette smoke.

So I read in my mother's room with such peace and quiet
Which is welcome but grates on my nerves
The book is racy and the heroine's curves
Sustain a kind of excitement for the main man
I imagine myself as the character and get carried away with the clever, clever dialogue,
Living in my imagination, blocking out the pain of the every hour,
I will eventually go to bed alone and tired from nothing but sitting and reading.

^

Biography

I have always been interested in writing. I am in my mid forties, reading and writing short pieces are my main interests. I maintain a diary and have written short stories. I am a member of a Dublin book club and a past member of the Swords Writers Group.