Poetry Pleases: Going For A Walk
Arthur Gilliand's poem reminds us that the commonplace can be sinister and profoundly shocking.
He packs the case, laying precious items gently down;
Pulls on his coat, looks round to check;
Smiles at his image in the mirror,
Before clicking the door, working the handle,
Making sure it's locked, secure;
And sets off down the path.
A carefree nod and smile,
'Morning!' he calls
To slightly remembered folk,
Who cheerfully smile back, and go about their lives.
He feels the fresh, free air of England
Feed his lungs, invigorate his mind.
Life is good; he begins to whistle -
Quietly - remembering the old tunes.
The shopping centre's busy as he looks
In windows, past his own reflection
Staring back, questioning the face
That has, momentarily, some doubt, some fear.
One deep breath for composure
And with a practised move he leaves the case,
Smoothly and lightly as a kissing, virgin snowflake,
And glides away, an unrecognised shadow
In the bustling, shopping crowd.
The flat crack that whips down the street,
Bouncing from wall to wall,
Flinging iron and glass into children, women, men.
He hears, and is satisfied.
His ears are not programmed to hear the screams and cries
As children are orphaned, parents bereaved,
Blood and flesh are sacrificed to his ideals.
A carefree nod and smile,
'Morning!' he calls
To slightly remembered folk,
Who cheerfully smile back, and go about their lives.
'Morning!' he whispers to himself
As he unlocks the door,
And switches on the kettle for his tea.
