You Were Only Talking... Poem by David Lewis Paget

It's four o'clock in the morning,
No sleep for me this night,
I sit on the cold verandah,
And watch for a chink of light;
The wind howls round about me
The moon's not raised its head,
And you are out there walking,
Walking,
Walking,
And you are out there walking,
When you should have been in bed!

I'm shivering in the darkness,
It's colder than the crypt,
The rain that passed right over
Left puddles, where it dripped
My mind sets off to wonder
Why life should be so grim…
You said that you were talking,
Talking,
Talking,
That you were only talking
When I saw you there with him.

I questioned you on Monday,
I questioned you, and then,
You said that he was funny,
You'd talk with him again.
I said I didn't like it,
It wasn't right somehow,
But you just sat there sulking
Sulking,
Sulking,
You sat and faced me sulking
With a crease across your brow.

You left the house at seven,
You said: 'I won't be late! '
You had to do some shopping
And be with your sister, Kate;
But when I phoned your sister
She said there was no trace,
And now the dawn is breaking
Breaking,
Breaking,
And now the dawn is breaking
Across my tear-lined face.

A sudden light at the corner,
I see he's brought you back,
That one last kiss of the morning
Has turned my vision black,
For I am sat in the darkness
Like a statue, frozen, stone,
With a kitchen knife by the awning,
Awning,
Awning,
And I think you'll still be yawning
When I drive the handle home.

22 February 2008