THE DRAINING BOARD

I used to fly,

High above the world,

And float free of time,

Like some starwinged eagle;

But I was just

An ape opening an atlas

To see

Maps of the tides of history.

Tribes and empires;

Ostrogoths, Visigoths, Huns, Alans

And Picts depicted

And printed on paper plans

Denoted and defined

By differing cross hatchings.

On each new page

A new era

Now I don’t even have

To open a book.

Whilst I wait for my tea kettle to boil,

I look

At the bloblules and globules

At the rivulets and dribulets

Of water in the indentations

Of a kitchen sink draining board.

Gravity and history make them coalesce and flow

Like tribes and empires,

One among many

May suddenly gain momentum

And surges on

A rampant conquering superblob
Absorbing all others
In its path,

Until it mostly careers

Headfirst down the plughole

Leaving scattered remanents behind

Like a kingdom

That once was

And now is gone.

I pour water

And some spills

Onto the draining board

So history starts up

All over again.