Visit To The Old Man Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

With my father, I sit,
quietly drum my fingers,
look out of the window.

A cheery commonplace
passes between us.

I reread the paper.

The sunlit conservatory
brings the flowerful colours
right into the house.

My eye skids over news
I found boring the first time.

Ahha! ! A bee is trapt!
A patent suction tube
is found to capture and
expel it by the window.

Calm returns. The table
silver glints in readiness
like a silent servant.

The library shelves yawn.

And beneath all this,
a volcanic anarchy
murmurs unexplored -
tremors reaching the surface,
the magma within untouched.


26/06/2008