Lost August Poem by David Lewis Paget

‘No, it’s not that I want to be awkward’,
He began, as he stifled a sigh,
‘Though I don’t understand your intentions,
And I’m not even going to try,
I will bow to your final decision
In this, as in all we have done,
Only, please try to show me some kindness
As the man you once loved for your own.’

She looked from the living room window
Her arms tightly crossed at the breast,
Her back was so sternly toward him
That he feared for the worst, (and the best) ,
‘There once was a time, ’ then she halted,
Some things were left better unsaid,
Then she sighed, ‘Well, it’s just for one Christmas...
Then she snarled, ‘But I wish you were dead.’

And he smiled, as she turned back to face him
In that wistful expression of old,
Where his mouth turned the corners up lightly
But his eyes cried their hurt in the cold.
‘Yes, it’s only for Christmas I’m asking
With our children again at the last,
I’ll be gone with the wind in the morning,
Just a memory drift in your past.’

Then he felt that he should have said something
So he muttered I’m sorry… and that’,
And he turned down his gaze to the carpet,
And he felt for his old, beaten hat.
‘Don’t go... would you care for a coffee...’
She haltingly started to say,
As he fumbled his hat in confusion
To nod his familiar way.

‘If you’d rather I went, ’ he said quickly,
‘I know this is painful for you....’
‘Don't be soft, ’ said his wife from the kitchen,
‘It’s long since I felt owt for you...’
‘If you’d only been more of a husband,
Or more of a father to them...
‘Yes, I know, ’ and he painfully nodded,
And stared at the carpet again.

‘Well, you’ll sleep on the floor, in the study,
And I don't want you wandering round,
I’ve a man, as you know, that I sleep with,
And I won’t have him feeling put down.’
Then the hurt of his glance must have touched her,
‘Well, I’m sorry, but that’s how it is,
Either sleep in the study…’ he nodded,
And accepted with grace his defeat.

‘As a matter of interest’, she started,
As she carried the tray through the door,
‘Where on earth did you go... back in August
(He just smiled at some point on the floor) .
‘Was it some fancy woman you wanted
While I spent the nights sitting alone,
Spent the days in a panic, and staring
In the hopes that you’d write, or you’d phone? ’

‘I’m sorry, ’ he muttered, ‘I’m sorry,
I know it was terribly wrong...
As he sat huddled up in the corner,
(And he’d once been so straight and so strong) ,
So strong and so young and romantic,
So faithful as well... she appeared
Once again in the line of his vision
With the slightest veiled hint of a sneer.

‘I’ll be off then, I’ll see you on Sunday, ’
Then he rushed through the door and was gone
And the tears welled again at her eyelids
As she felt so adrift and alone.
‘What is done has been done and forgotten,
I’m soft for the beggar, I know.’
Then the children rushed in at the doorway...
‘Was that Daddy we saw up the road? ’

On the night before Christmas, a shadow
Slid wearily up to the door,
And the head was both bowed and defeated,
And the coat was both ragged and torn,
But she hid the distaste as she took it
And noticed how aged he’d become,
As he went to the study in silence,
And she went to her bed with her man.

He emerged at the break of the dawning
Midst the cries of delight at the tree,
And he basked in their love and attention
As he balanced them both on his knee.
But his wife was a trifle distracted
For her man wouldn't come, at the last,
‘I’ll be gone with the wind...’ he repeated,
‘Just a memory drift in your past.’

And he’d gone as he’d promised, when morning
Saw all the festivities done,
With the love and regrets of his children
And a last, loving kiss for his son...
‘Yes it’s only for Christmas I’m asking
With our children again at the last, ’
He was gone with the wind in the morning,
Just a memory drift in her past.

But the New Year was carelessly breaking
And the memories slipping away
When the police brought the news in the morning
That he’d died on the previous day.
‘Do you mean that he’d kept it a secret,
I’ll be damned, ’ said the Sergeant again,
‘He knew he was riddled with cancer,
What a man, what a man among men! ’

So she cried… but it wasn’t in anger,
Just the soft, helpless cry of defeat...
Did he think it would be any better,
Did he think he could temper her grief?
‘As a matter of interest, ’ she’d started
As she’d carried the tray through the door,
‘Where on earth did you go back in August...
He’d just smiled at a point on the floor.

Now whenever she passes her lover
They both turn their faces away,
He went back to his job in munitions
And his wife, it was better that way...
If he’d only been more of a husband,
Or more of a father, she’d said,
And she’d sighed, ‘Well it’s just for one Christmas...
And she’d snarled, ‘But I wish you were dead! ’

And he’d smiled as she’d turned back to face him
In that wistful expression of old,
Where his mouth turned the corners up lightly
But his eyes cried their hurt in the cold.
‘Yes, it’s only for Christmas I’m asking
With our children again, at the last,
I’ll be gone with the wind in the morning,
Just a memory drift in your past.’

21 September 1974