Prayer for Uninteresting Times

 

Send me a slow news day,

a quiet, subdued day,

in which nothing much happens of note,

just the passing of time,

the consumption of wine,

and a re-run of Murder, She Wrote.

Grant me a no news day,

a spare-me-your-views day,

in which nothing much happens at all—

a few hours together,

some regional weather,

a day we can barely recall.

--Brian Bilston

[Photo of White Rocks in Wallingford, VT].

Merry

  

It’s a word which only comes out at Christmas.

 

As for the rest of the year,

it’s as if it has been packed away in the attic

with the decorations and the tinsel,

waiting for its own time to shine.

 

Rarely do we play well with it.

We do not let it loose for birthdays

or anniversaries; only in error does it intrude

on the happiness of a new year.

 

But at Christmas, it emerges blinking

into the light, red-cheeked and perky,

in a perfect state of mild inebriation,

writing itself into Christmas cards,

 

greeting friends on doorsteps,

embracing family before they take off their shoes,

warming strangers on icy pavements.

Merry Christmas, we say. Merry Christmas.

—Brian Bilston

[Merry Christmas Eve with friends and neighbors].

Advanced Book Search

"I can’t remember what it’s called

but I’m pretty sure it has a green cover.

What I do know is that the author’s name

starts with a P. Or possibly a K.

One of the consonants, definitely.

She was talking about it on Radio 4 last week –

although now I come to think of it,

it may have been Radio 2. On Monday.

It’s a novel. Set in Bridgend, if that helps.

No, hang on … Bridport. Or Brisbane?

She did sound Australian, in a Welsh kind of way.

At least, I think it’s a novel. It might be

an autobiography. Or a travel guide.

But I am certain it has a green cover

because I saw a picture of it

in the newspaper a few weeks ago,

although that could have been another book …”

are words that take a long time to type

into an online search box,

and lead to unsatisfactory results.

I ask my local bookseller instead,

who fetches the book from the shelf.

Turns out the cover was red.

--Brian Bilston