Monday 27 February 2012

Swivel Chair

The swivel chair in front of your computer
is a lookout, perched on a borderline:

In front there are clear vistas,
your friends smiling in the dark,
and voices calling all at once.

Behind lie well-trodden paths
to a supermarket, a bus stop,
or a graveyard.

The swivel chair in front of your computer
is creeping forward:

you lift your feet,
and it gathers pace,
you arch your back and smile.

Behind the landscape fades,
and all you remember,
is how the pavement was grey.

The swivel chair in front of your computer
now eases off the ground:

your eyes are fixed forward,
your mouth slightly curved,
as ever faster scenes flick by.

Behind the season has changed,
and now everything shimmers
green-blue-gold, green-blue-gold.

The swivel chair in front of your computer
rattles, and firmly faces you away:

but you kneel on the chair, turn backwards,
squint into the sun,
and long for those well trodden paths.

In front the vistas blur,
the smiles are those of strangers,
and voices call all at once.