6ft 2 And A Half
He had a box full of bits of watches,
a box of picture postcards
not addressed to himself
and a mind that daydreamed constantly.
He found a room big enough
for the bits of watches and picture postcards
but his heart too big for containment
burst amongst his precious things
and absconded away from us, forever.
© Paul Tristram 2006
Published in Reach, Issue 105, July/August 2006
A Man Is Born
I had made it clear from the start.
“I’m not carrying the baby
up or down the stairs,
accidents happen,
I’d never forgive myself.
They are so very small
and vulnerable,
I’ll watch from over your shoulder.
I’ll not hold the baby
in the hospital
in front of people,
I’ll wait until we get home!”
Your waters broke.
A screaming panic of nerves
and we were in the ambulance.
You sat close and held my hand tightly
as I searched the roof
for the next line of a prayer.
In the delivery suite
we arm wrestled needlessly
you had already won 9 months before.
Then a glimpse of the scalp,
I can hear my voice urging you on
yet I am a statue
willing, needing control
of a situation without reigns.
I can merely watch and panic
as your body opens before me,
then out she slides
bigger than I expected,
not doll like in the slightest,
her eyes alert and searching.
The midwife asked
“Who would like to hold her first?”
“Me!” I demanded
standing up out of my seat.
I looked into those big, blue eyes
and instantly felt strong enough
to tear down the walls around me.
Level mountains with my free hand.
The adrenalin was volcanic.
I have never felt like killing anyone
until now, there is no real target
yet nations should tremble
at the resolve that I feel
looking into her big, blue eyes.
© Paul Tristram 2006
Published in Poetry Monthly, Issue 129, December 2006
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
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