Afternoon

by Edward Reilly

Not as though drinking after lunch is a problem.
The day’s work is done and it is so cold outside.
Too cold to think about doing anything in the garden.
And the sunlight, which had warmed me, has waned.
Our retirement suburb is silent.

Outside the village centre, the flag flies half-mast.
Someone, I may have met in passing, has passed away,
As the polite phrasing goes: that is, he has died
Just how, which of course, is a politely unspoken matter,
Though, there are whispers.

We are now doing the past week’s washing.
Sheets, pillow cases and towels, all in together:
Then pyjamas, smalls and delicates, separate,
As if we were giggling honeymooners still
Living on a single paycheck.