When Johnny Comes Dreaming Home

Look in his footlocker:
the folded shirts,

the edgy crispness
and containment.

Understand how it sits,
underpinning the bed,

and how it’s balanced
by his dreaming head

where his desires wriggle like Houdini,
suspended from some building,

straightjacketed, yards
above the hard street.

Feel the cold, linear exactness
ground him, as, in the dark,

enveloped in sleek sheets,
there is an odd, jerking kick,

a tic, like a rogue sock
on the floor, which lashes and stops

and marches itself back
to the box of his dream.


3 thoughts on “When Johnny Comes Dreaming Home

  1. This is just a wonderful if sad poem. The focus on the footlocjer and all that attends it– the under-footing as it were, the underpinning, understanding, kick, sock–all makes for a powerfully coherent whole. K.

  2. Thrillingly moving. It seems i have finally found a real poet. So glad you stopped by and made me come over and visit. So sad that it also makes me realize that I might as well give up.Kafka eat your heart out: this is darker and deeper I can see why you can’t wait for the next few years to release you from the day job: what you have bubbling inside the soul and duende is desperate to see the light of print.It’s like the fire beneath our feet.I can only read one a day because of the strength and power of your verses.
    Am I right in thinking that you either showed or described a yellow shrub in your garden earlier in the year? Vague recollection of something.

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