Whatsup?

Who wants to be connected anyway?

When you get a Whatsapp

from your daughter

It’s always about

what you can do for her.

You think this is a universal

problem. At least you hope it is.

Today the request is for

anti-histamines and tampons,

To bring along when you meet her for lunch.

The mind grapples.

First of all- is there a connection

between menstrual periods

and the release of histamine?

Or could the Gods have conspired

to deliver two blows in one swoop?

And anyway, didn’t she pass a pharmacy

on her way to work?

And didn’t she know

that blood spill was imminent,

given that it flows in cycles,

more or less moon driven?

Whatever about anti-histamines,

You are well into your hag phase,

Though you think a packet of

her tampons may have slipped

behind the bathroom cabinet.

Removing shelves, you line up

an array of not-your-products.

(She doesn’t live there anymore, by the way)

2-in-1 nail varnish remover?

Hair touch up?

Derma spa summer revived?

You dip a ladle behind the cupboard

in the hope of scooping up tampons,

but drop the spoon instead!

So now you have to find

a hardware store and a pharmacy

on your way to meeting her for lunch.

Or you could simply slip your phone

behind the bathroom cabinet.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018

Kitty Antics

A familiar scene to all cat owners!

Kitty Antics

He comes in from the sleet

and rain and stands

while I towel dry him

And when he’s had enough of that

he lets me know,

his claws hungering for scratch.

Then he throws himself

on kitchen tiles. Fridge magnet

sprawl in front of target.

I shake nuggets into his bowl,

but he’s holding out

for something better.

I stroke his chin and tell him

what a fine fellow he is!

He purrs up at this

But when I walk away he knows

The game’s up. And from the other room
I hear the sound of feline crunch.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018

Cautionary Tails

Inspired by Andrea Cohen's "To an Ant Fallen in the Salt Shaker"

To the Cat who Swallowed a Wasp.

I too have mistaken it

For a fly. Its buzz

Incessant. Its flight

Maze path

Vertiginous.

Its speed

Blindsiding.

And the urge

To pursue

Instinctual.

The mind cannot

Compete with that.

Common sense

Two steps behind.

But, beware,

If caught up in a chase

That is headlong

That allows no

Time out

That plunges you

Forward

On the doomed trail

Of a Pied Piper.

It’s likely that

You may be

Mistaken.

If you had

Swallowed a fly

You may have

Come a cropper

Anyway.

But the taste

Would have been

More to your liking.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018

First Love

Inspired by Nessa O'Mahony's "First Love" and Keats' "La Belle Dame sans Merci."

My first love? Since you ask-

was Maverick, gambler and gunslinger.

His poker hand could set Mississippi ablaze

and his wrist speed to holster was slick.

I sent him a pic of myself, aged nine

sitting on a rock at Portrush.

He didn’t write back.

My next love was hell bent

on Holy Orders.

I attended his ordination.

Enough said.

Then there was the bow-legged

Gilbert O’Sullivan look-a-like minus piano

Whose every stride I shadowed around the town.

My mother said I’d wear myself thin with unrequited lust.

I did. 

Until a hairy-faced biker

whisked me off on his Honda 50

and meteors struck and I saw shooting stars.

I came to on a cold hillside

alone and palely loitering.

I was a slow learner...

Copyright with Cathy leonard 2018

Redundant

Severance
for my father

On Sundays we walked the line

from Drumglass to Edendork

You telling us of the time

you drove the  steam train

All the way to Cookstown.

Nettles stung our calves

as we leapt from one sleeper to another,

Sleepers that would later be ripped up

to bolster flower beds In suburbia.

On weekdays after school

we played at the freight train station

where you, as foreman, presided

braced and waist-coated,

Unloading and selecting goods for onward

delivery. Punching cards, whose presence 

or absence of holes, gave data. 

Overseeing the No 50

Fill up from the water tank.

We leapt on and off box cars

and covered wagons and hoppers

Until the engine began to groan

and chuff and emit steam

and hiss and lumber to a start,

Its cranks sprung into arm,

elbow, shoulder action,

Propelling the great wheels

around a parabolic

curve, under the Milltown

tunnel, heading for Derry

Until the ton miles hauled

per unit of energy consumed

was deemed too low,

The freight train redundant,

And you, after decades

of labour were let go,

 Uncompensated.

The freight train station in Dungannon closed in February 1965. It was not until August 1965 that The UK Redundancy Payment Act addressed comprehensively the question of severance payment  for redundant workers.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018

Trips Abroad

Fear of Foreign Travel

You looked for skylines

To feel you had arrived

And narrow streets through which

we passed two abreast

And roof edges and gable walls

And mosaics of terra cotta tiles.

Otherwise the space was too

Wide. The foreignness of it all

Too great. The chattering

Throngs too unintelligible.

You felt like folding up,

Folding in on yourself.

Crouched in a hotel bedroom

You wanted to take the return

Flight home..... until

You angled your lens to the roof

Tops and shot corners and edges

Patchwork pieces of the big quilt.

And frame by frame

You settled into being there

Into Lyon

Into travel.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018

Still in Search of roots

Prompted by a census 1911 search I took a literal journey to my roots.

In Search of Mother

A journey I would not have taken,

Cross border, cross time

Into a past best forgotten,

If not to find the place

Where she was born.

A gap, an ache, a yawn,

In the row that used to house

The Hursons and the Dillons

And the Kirks and the Stewarts.

Their back yards now strewn

With black rubber tyres, rusted wheel

Rims, discarded spares and parts.

Nothing to salvage here

of her beginnings.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018