Breaking Out

Somewhere on the A303 this afternoon in Wiltshire, on the way back from Robin's aunty's funeral in Salisbury. 

At the hotel afterwards

we sit at a big circular table,

pristine white cloth

hanging to the chairs

 a jug of water and wine glasses in the centre.

 His other aunty sits on one side of him

his sister on the other,

feeding him salty peanuts 

one by one

from the 

plate of wake nibbles

that I selected for  him

from the platters of 

sandwiches and canapes

chicken wings and asparagus spears

arranged on trestle tables around the room.

All the guests mingle above us

above the flat white ocean

of the empty round table.

When his brother comes,

stands behind his chair

 leans towards him,

to hear him better,

to ask him about 

his time in hospital,

it's like the sun breaking out

into a sky that 

has been dull and dark

for too long. 

Their aunty would have cheered

to be the catalyst

for peace breaking out.

Tonight it's me making the sky dark. I'm tired and at cross purposes with myself. Cross about not getting my own way about the showering thing.

And I have a spot breaking out above my top lip which hurts and makes me feel ugly.