by CIARAN O'DRISCOLL
SONNET FOR MY WIFE AT EIGHT-FIFTEEN
Laden with desk diary, handbag, lunch pack,
raincoat, umbrella, an extra pullover,
my wife is going out the door to work
on a windy morning in late October.
I watch and recommend myself to take
this snap of eight-fifteen across her years
of nine-to-five: the way she bends to put
the key in the ignition, settles herself,
then takes a moment to survey the street.
The engine stirs and she who is my life-
companion, my momentous one, who grows
with the advancing days more weather-proof,
has driven off and left a parking space,
a jackdaw preening on the opposite roof.
Last updated November 27, 2015