Things Are Just The Same

The smile is wry – the sadness
barely shows around the eyes,
you wouldn’t even know unless
a surreptitious tear was shed

You are okay, you kindly ask, as
though he’d ever say he wasn’t
anyway; I’m fine, is his reply
and he nods his greying head

He looks a little tired, energy
that used to flow unbound is now
restrained – he hardly seems
the same; you have to ask

The weather’s been a trial he
moans, it’s either much too hot
or wet, the grass is growing way
too fast, I’ll have to mow again

I promised her I’d keep the place
the way it was the day she left
it’s hard alone you know, even so
I owe her much too much to fail

You want to say she isn’t coming
home but keep your silent faith; you
know she had to find a place with
joyousness and space to breathe

It’s nice you asked me though, he
sighs, when you take the time to say
hello is almost like she isn’t gone,
that things are just the same
© 23 January 2009, I. D. Carswell