Poems by Laurence Meehan
September Morn
On that September Morn
She left her husband alone
It was his day off you see
She worked in the big city
He awoke to find the coffee
She left for him like always
Trying to be on time
She is running through the hallways
Finally at the metro station
Her brow full of perspiration
A hot September Morn
The temperature was the conversation.
He’s awake now sitting at the window.
Coffee, croissant, and the morning news
Outside his high-rise city views
Just another Tuesday above the Hill Street Blues
Now she’s at her office
Coffee-stained dress
She rushes to the bathroom.
To clean away the mess.
His last sip of coffee
And a shadow covers the cup.
Huge engines roar close by
nose to glass, he looks up
Her meeting due to start now
She thinks of him and texts
‘Maybe we should get married
Because Baby you’re the best’
He drops his coffee cup
As he witnesses the darkest dream
A nightmare of proportions
that never have been seen
As her text reached his phone
The plane struck her room
He could see the building ignite In a red and orange plume.
Helpless to save her
Cold his coffee – his heart was torn
A marriage undone
That September Morn
Make America Safe Again
Trump or Kamala?
A debate for the camera
In a desert without decency
Like Christmas Turkeys
watching the great debate on TV
Round one to Trump, he calls out her race
An Indian black woman with a beautiful face
He figured that charm would bolster his innocent pleas
Of his alleged abuse of Stormy and Leeds
Round two to Kamala for just being human
A heartbeat and some warmth shining through now
We won’t go back she chants to the crowd
With Mam and Dad Obama…standing there proud.
Round three to Trump for just being shot
Just a couple of centimetres left or right
It will be the same on election night
Please stand still Mr Trump
Kamala needs time to get her promises right.
Round four to Kamala… a fracking great promise
She told them they can frack away
Frack on, Frack off… Daniel son!
For this was how the rust was won.
Round five like a Rocky movie now
With Trump on the ropes and sweat on her brow
They have both run out of things to say.
No more Obama style catchphrases
Or bloodied ears left to spray
Be they Americans or Indians, Blacks, Irish or Indonesians
They all live for the American Dream
They all want the same thing.
Be they Angels or Aliens, or just on the run
They all live by the mercy of the gun
Please let it be
Be it K or be it D
They will outlaw guns
And set this nation free.
I say… Go back
And make America
Safe again.
• Inklings Writing Group meet on Tuesdays at 11am in the Annebrook Hotel. Visitors are welcome.