Pizza & Trumpets

There’s no greeting fanfare in Arrivals, 
chest-high sign blaring your name in black 
capitals, pat on the back for a model past,
reunion with family tree and pets. All that 
awaits is white, corridors of unfamiliar faces 
like first day at school. Hymns plucked 
on thousand-string harps, no flamenco 
slap or Starman on the radio oh-oh. 

Driven wild by whispers of basement 
parties, Jesus flipping burgers at barbies, 
brobdingnagian pizza and trumpets,
gin-swilling saints, Hollywood greats, 
Elvis, Prince and Jimi Hendrix on stage,
John and Yoko together again.

Turning Point

Tongues loosened by quaffable red,
shared ear for Ella, Miles, Lady Day 
and Coltrane, we ratchet up banter.
Air scents of kitchen roast chicken notes, 
winter light all but out, rain playing 
percussion on window panes, I watch 

you ovenglove the cradled beast to rest, 
brindled, bedded on veg, carving knife 
poised before my curveball comment 
punctures the mood. Eyes fixed apart, 
we bolt down dinner, chew over barbed words, 
wait for time to dress, digest the wound.

About the Author

Paul Waring is a retired clinical psychologist from Wirral. His poetry is published in Prole, Atrium, Obsessed With Pipework, Ink, Sweat & Tears, London Grip and elsewhere. Awarded second prize in the 2019 Yaffle Prize, commended in the 2019 Welshpool Poetry Competition, his debut pamphlet ‘Quotidian’ is published by Yaffle Press. 

Twitter: @drpaulwaring


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