Sitting

I’m tired, and I’m sitting in a bar
not far
from the house where I live.
What wouldn’t I give
for that house to be mine
for a future that’s fine
that I find to be clear
staying here
going nowhere?
Don’t care what I end up doing,
if I know what’s brewing
and the cup I must drink.
In the blink of an eye
it seems I
could be thrown
onto a road I’ve not been shown
when all I want is to know
that our kids can grow
without the only constant being us,
frequent moves, constant fuss.
If I could provide stability
that would be enough for me
A future that suits
would be one with roots
for my family.
Happily
I’d handle what life throws at me;
marvel at what life shows to me.
I don’t want the world you see
just want to see
her face, and theirs still close to me.

Once I had a plan you see
to see the world
footloose and free
and I lost the opportunity
when I chose her for me
yet she is just my cup of tea
as could be the stability
of knowing that this place
is here for me, that face, those walls
will always be.

Why shouldn’t I say
that I want to stay
if I want to stay,
if that’s the way
maybe I may
find peaceful days
and nights when, come what may
the door can close
and the one I chose
is close
and the children doze
and maybe now and then
I’ll put on my shoes,
pick up a pen, walk a short way up the hill again
and, with whisky in the jar, write “I’m tired, and I’m sitting in a bar
not far
from the house where I live”?

Junction One, Golcar, 22nd May 2013