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Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Pulse

Rating: 4.0
That dear old friend
Once, crisp and timely
as a metronome, now
Shouts in my ears each night
To chase away the sleep,
Pounding like a fool running there
In oversize wellington boots.

Next day I check
My donor card and
Wonder who would want
My wheezy squeeze box?
It's far more use to me
Than someone dying.

But the thought crosses...
What if?
Would that person stay awake
Each night thinking of those other hearts
That in its lifetime, once
Beat a harmony close to it?

Or is it just a muscle
Pulsing a reminder that you're living,
Should you ever need to check?



Alternative pulse.....

A tart walks into a bar. The landlord says
What do you fancy love?
She looks furtively left and right then
With a shrug of shoulders says.....
Anything with a pulse.
Patrick Ladbrooke
Topic(s) of this poem: growing old,humour
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COMMENTS
Jazib Kamalvi 04 May 2017
A sustained humour. Thanks
0 0 Reply

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