Driving Home With Christmas Poem by Seán O Muiríosa
Driving Home With Christmas
The stream of cars stutter on second by second
Transferring to minutes. Accumulating
Along roads and junctions through towns
Where Christmas lights now glow – red, yellow and green
Though bringing no release as they hang on still trees.
A woman sits in her car that stutters like the rest
In the gloom of nightfall leaving the city,
Crawling home to suburbia –
And it’s Christmas, nearly Christmas!
So much left to be done –
Transforming trolls and super-girls to buy,
A narky husband to keep sober and stand by
On Christmas day. In the freeze,
Her head drops plonk to the wheel
To beep it all about.
Just another scream sent out. There.
They move along like any arm of snails
Lodged tightly in a drain pipe;
Slug on they may, however that occurs,
It’s two days to Christmas.
Two days to Christmas…
She raises her head with those beautiful
Chestnut curls that run through each strand
And a tear begins to curdle from her
Dead vacant stare.
The Christmas lights are still on trees;
A mirror bleeds and sparkles.
This was excellent Sean.. you have captured a great deal of emotion in this piece, you gave to the woman 'flesh and bone' she was real and so were her feelings, the agony, the stress, the mixed joy and despair.. especially the last line said it all. Very very well done! HBH
There are some excellent lines here and, undoubtedly, the best one is the final one. This line captures so many feelings. The way the christmas lights are 'still' on trees seems to suggest that such festivity is appaling in the light of one woman's agony and this idea is beautifully continued in the final line where a 'mirror bleeds and sparkles'; suggesting both the woman's pain and the general cheer of christmas as an antithesis whilst also suggesting that the two are somehow intertwined and that the cheerful sparkle is a flimsy facade for a deep pain. Nice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 9:48:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Nice work Sean! The character in your poem appears to like the season as much as I. Loved the 'narky' husband! The last line is very good as well. I suppose that I was hoping that Christmas in Ireland was somewhat less mercenary