Lynn White

Surprise Me

Sometimes evolution surprises me.

Walking upright on two legs

but not tall enough 

to pick apples from the tree

and quite the wrong shape to nibble

those strawberries

without back-breaking pain

seems unlikely natural development.

But prediction is difficult.

In the 1950s I read an article

that predicted

humans would evolve to grow

an arm extra long arm

to expiate the need to leave the sofa

to turn on the tv

or to turn it off.

Technology put paid to that one

It seemed remote then

unsurprising later

with a click of the remote.

Three arms would be useful though,

I’m surprised it hasn’t happened

but three legs, 

who needs them?

That would surprise me.

First published in The Tenth Muse, May 2023

Back Then

He was so exciting

back then

such a dresser,

quiff falling over face,

cigarette hanging from lips

cool, cool, so cool 

back then.

And he found me exciting

he found me cool,

I was the envy of my friends 

back then.

And now,

where are they now 

that boy and girl

from back then.

Not here

though 

still

sharing space

but remote

disconnected

from each other

with uncool clothes

and uncool hairstyles

dreaming of what they had

dreaming of what they lost

dreaming of how they were

back then.

First published in Call Me [Brackets], December 2022

The Sound of Silence

Silence is complicated.

It can be comfortable and companionable 

like the silence between us now.

We see others though, where silence rests heavily,

as they seek speech to bridge the gap 

of discomfort, which lies uneasily between them.

We will not allow this silence space,

Worse is the fear of a future silence, a cold space, 

where we have nothing to say to each other.

A silence where we are still together, but distant, remote,

without feeling, drifting into our private spheres, 

that we do not want to share. No touching warmth,

but a place where we are unable to excite each other

even with conversation.

We know dangerous silences too, seething with an anger

that pours from our closeness and expresses itself,

tightly wound, as it passes through us.

We communicate this only too effectively

and may break ourselves, before this silent storm.

Speech could not help us anyway, its violent words

threaten only to separate us, to blow away the vestiges

of how we want to remain.

First published in Writers Ezine, June 2016