If I wind back these hands far enough
will I find you sitting opposite me?
Jittery and nervous
trying to explain what the doctor told you
and telling me stories,
no doubt in the hope I’ll stop asking questions,
about why you can’t sit still,
why you couldn’t string words together last time we spoke,
why you keep bouncing your gaze from cocktail glass
to candle, to bar staff,
like you’re waiting for an alarm to sound
that really we should all be expecting.
I will count your drinks again.
I will make a comment about it
to the mutual friend sat beside you
when you venture off to use the bathroom.
I will be worried again
and that wasn’t something new
just exaggerated in the current scenario.
When didn’t I realise
the clock was counting down
and I didn’t see the lies
you wrapped over my worries
like badly applied plasters.
What is it about that past
that can make it haunt the present so?
Why can I not leave that cocktail bar behind?
Daily Post: Present
I’ve written two posts today from the Daily Post prompt present. I didn’t set our intending to but this poem just sort of slipped out anyway. Mostly because of the prompt’s link with time. I’m the sort of person who spends a lot of thought on how I could have changed the outcome of situations if I’d handled things different, if I’d know things that I know now then. In the end it’s a waste of time. I can’t change the past, I just have to live with the present as it is.
Writing and Works 
I agree. Time doesn’t fix all wounds. A amazing poem.