Are you ready?

when returning home
to childhood sweetheart
who leaves for Ghana,
crosses her breast,
says
"I'll never marry,
I'll never wear a bridal dress"
she'd kept herself for you
she kept her body cold
she kept her beauty hard
though you were busy in other cities
investigating folds of skin
collecting the wages of sin
and you never knew how much you'd harmed her
pretty soul,
well the missionary has left these shores,
and shreds are torn.

when standing still
in the second home
where your mother walked
and tears were wept
and dust since gathered
with moss and dew
to thicken black
the window sill,
your father pours a cup of tea
and talks
and struggles to remember,
so as you see your father ageing
through the passing of December,
right here,
the shreds are torn

and standing on the Kop,
shouting at the lads,
"Get stuck into 'em,
fuck 'em up,
show some mettle,
prove your worth,
bleed for your club,
bleed love and guts"
who are you really shouting at,
who needs to be hurt,
and do your friends
suspect?

when sick in bed
and flatmate creeps
and dabs your head with wet cloth
and whispers in your ear
"Can I get you anything?"
yes anything my love
do please,
well,
shreds are torn

shreds were torn,
when in fevered dream
the fireworks exploded
over London
and he was flying,
thinking
"God rest my soul,
I do believe I've finally cracked the code
and life is going to be so easy
now"
but hope,
as weights were lifted
and wounds repaired,
dashed against the waking
head,
just on the cusp,
but awake again
to feel the shreds being torn

so that now
we ask
who is beaten?
and who runs,
and who stands,
and who grieves?
and are you,
you the churning ocean,
Are you ready?