My prompts for this were “parsley” and “Why didn’t he want to celebrate Christmas this year?” The question portion of the prompt led itself to all sorts of angst, and I was determined to make it a joyful poem despite the rather desperately dreary inspiration.
Matt Lormer’s house’s
abandoned, that once
blazed with jazz and rang with lights,
was full of pomp and bounce,
open to anyone (with wit
or good looks or a name).
What man would leave behind such
delicate local fame?
Surely he’ll be back for Yule?
Hobos hole up in his halls,
laughing at frostbite, spitting and
soiling the rooms of bygone balls.
Where shall we go for Yule?
Tramps raid his cellar and his pantry.
They’ve left only bags of flour,
Spiderwebs, scattered bits of parsley.
Vain dancer, you don’t know?
You weren’t there when he heard
the news, and dropped his flute,
And bolted without a word?
Lormer’s love, perished in the
Galloway bombs some sixteen years before—
Now said to be alive! He did not
Stop to consult you or shut his door.
We’ve word they met in Marley,
Careless of locale, surely.
He shan’t come back to our glittering Yule:
His Easter has come early.
Copyright 2010 Jobey George
One Day One Poem 