24 November 2013

Giving Vent


Not a favourite chore, not ever on any to-do list in 
summer for explicable reasons, or grievances y’d 
gladly put your name to; its bloody hot up there. A 
10 minute madness to endure - and no guarantee 
it wont need to be done again. Vents rotate free in 
breeze extracting hot air from that cavity between 
ceiling and roof, sometimes they need oiling, and 
sure, y’d never think it easy to do - even in winter 

It’s this dimension’s hell hole incarnate, existence 
indicated by a raunchy susurration which, if winds 
persist, rises to a howl oscillating manically; can’t 
ignore it, subliminally infiltrates nerve-cells like its  
rabidly diseased, & with the storm coming I’m not 
left with options to freely deliberate 

So we do it, ascent into hell by a teetering trestle-
ladder, hatchway at furthest end from this operatic 
vent means we’ve embraced full sentence and no 
remission, CRC in hand of torch-glow brightened 
funereal-clamber, crouch-eased thru beams and 
joists in rodent space - already sweat-drenched 

But its done, in wonderment it ceases to shriek
probably can’t believe yours truly had gall such to 
spray it from beneath - of no dignity or panache a 
vent recognises with the right to dispute, even if 
the remedy suits - but it murmurs - you ain’t free 
yet bozo, there’s quite a way back to the hatch 

Made it - sure and safe, home free; the singing 
silenced for the time being, venting no agonies  
we’re aware of; but certainty has a longer route 
than the sweaty trip ‘up top’ - thunder’s already 
rumbling applause while the northerlies all but 
stopped - and now we await the rain … 

© 29 October 2013, I. D. Carswell