The Space By The Fire

That space by the fire

wasn’t always there.

It used to be reserved for a lady in her chair.

She was old and she was tired

and she deserved that seat,

the best one in the house for toasting hands and feet.

 

And what a place to die;

what a way to end your days,

surrounded by full life of a house always ablaze

with cooking, cleaning, dancing,

laughing, dreaming, singing too,

stories and romancing and Mick Daly’s mini-zoo.

 

Bridget Whelan won’t go far

from where her body used to sit.

You may not see her but you’ll know she’s in the thick of it.

(Explanation: Our neighbours' grandmother died recently having been cared for by our neighbour and her family for a long time.)

With Love To My Antonym

I think that saying must be true,

I think it must be fact,

for you and I are opposites

and we certainly attract.

You always take the rubbish out

and no-one does it finer.

And I always go to use the bin

and find that there’s no liner.

You always hoard such useless things;

nothing is discarded.

I only keep necessities

but you throw them out regardless.

You always keep so neat and clean,

washed and shaved and combed.

And I always find my towel’s been used

for wiping shaving foam.

You always put the channel on

that I want to see.

And I always find you’ve changed it

if I pop out to make tea.

Aren’t we lucky, you and me,

such balance in our lives?

I wouldn’t change a thing about

our constant compromise.

(Explanation: I wrote this for my husband on Valentine's Day 2010. Perfect Me is the 2014 update! 
Inspired by: Martin O'Sullivan)