365 Poems/58 Marshal’s Coat
I notice your coat when I’ve climbed
into bed, after turning the main light off.
Your coat is hung at an angle
on the round handle of the wardrobe.
It’s smaller than I would have thought.
I imagine your back being broad.
Then again, it was rare that I saw you standing.
I could reach out, touch North sea blue diamonds,
padded for warmth. I could touch cold press
stud buttons. But I don’t want to.
If you were to wake me, if you were to lightly tug
at my elbow and tell me it was time to get up,
I wouldn’t know what to say, because
I never spent a Christmas in your company.
Would you have preferred breakfast
before presents, or the other way around?
I get out of bed, pick up your coat.
It’s light like a child’s palm sized meringue,
or the skeleton of a goldcrest.