Poetry Blog: ‘Routine’

It’s been a while since I wrote any poetry. Anything complete, that is. There are several pages of notes and drafts in various notebooks and on my phone, as it goes and I definitely need to find time to get some of them finished. I know that there are notes and stuff because I’ve just looked. Every so often when I look I find one that I remember little or nothing about, although they’re usually from some stage of my time at home recovering from heart surgery last year.

Today’s poem is one of them. On first view it looked more or less complete, but once I read it again I made a few changes and additions and came up with what’s below. It’s a poem about the frustration of the every day routine, when the every day routine is slow, dull and painful.

Routine

As the gulls cry above
they seem to mock you,
gliding as they do, freely,
uninterrupted across another slate grey sky
almost laughing at the state you're in.

Beneath there is no flight, no such freedom
as you struggle through the curtained drizzle,
checking your pulse, taking deep breath after deep breath,
careful to slow your steps 
and evermore conscious of how helpless you must look,
knowing that you will collapse like a man at the end of a month long expedition,
somewhat gasping and groaning at your discomfort,
but trying to hide your fatigue 
as you return indoors
where only the slow death march of daytime TV
and snacking await.
The beard, the boredom and the bitterness
that come with early onset uselessness slowly grow,
the ticking of every clock in the place 
the only soundtrack to both your thoughts and your days,
while you sit, restless, clueless about how this all came to pass.

I’ve no idea when this was written. It could have been any of several weeks where I just couldn’t see an end to the weakness and fatigue that I felt. What I do know is that I felt angry. Livid at the fact that while having a pacemaker fitted was undoubtedly essential for me, it came with no real warning. I never would have suspected that the palpitations and dizziness I’d been experiencing on and off for months would have needed anything more than tablets to be sorted out. Maybe that’s why I’m an English teacher and not a cardiologist!

While I’m still a little angry and frustrated, the days of freezing cold, lonely walks are long gone. And while I’m not as healthy as I’d like to be, I’m a lot better than whenever this was written.

I’m gradually coming to terms with the changes that surgery has brought about and slowly recovering, although I think it’s going to be a lot longer before I feel quite myself again. So the poem is reflective of the kind of bleak times that I rarely, if ever seem to have anymore, but it intrigued me when I found it.

Anyway, I hope it made for a decent, interesting read! Feel free to leave a comment.