A Valentine For My Husband

Arms tense, he holds
The steering wheel,
Face concentrating,
Movements jerky, fast.
He changes gear
Gets into wrong
Positions.
"You’re doing really well,” I say.
He smiles grimly,
"Thank you," he answers softly.
He’s not a natural,
Doesn’t want to learn
To drive a car
Last thing he would
Choose to do, himself.
He’s doing it for love
Of us, for me.

"I’m quite enjoying it," he says
Through gritted teeth
As gear shifts stubbornly resist
Efforts to control them.
"Try to relax, move gently
Through the gears," I caution.
Despairingly he answers
"But I do."
He’s into fourth instead
Of second gear, we stall
At yet one more demanding roundabout.
No wonder he just wants
To drive straight on.
To duck the cars, to find
A place within
The stream of traffic
Circling round its hub.

But that is not the way
To pass the test
Not cautious, not controlled,
Not safe nor smooth.
Again he stalls, he jerks,
He stops, he swears.
And panic forms his motions.
"Slowly," I say,
"Just take your time restarting."
Impatience permeates
The very air he breathes
As all about
Are restlessly bypassing
His mistake.

We go again
Around edge of road and junction
’Till we reach a straight road
On which to ride,
And he releases breath
And strained emotion.
You're doing very well,"
I then repeat.
He’s doing it for love, of course
He's doing it,
He's doing it for me.

Suewrites

Irritation

It's not only me, I think

It's endemic,

Seeming to blight each and every life.

Constant small things that get under

The skin, on the nerves, winding up

Emotions into tight spring wire; ready to

Expand explosively at the person who

Inadvertent touches the mechanism.

Can this be the stuff life

Is made of, whines of discontent,

Mechanisms of discord?

Alex's New Home

The cat peered suspiciously out of the cat basket once it was on the floor and opened. He took a quick look around. Comparing the inside of his basket and the outside world, he shot out of the basket’s door and underneath the nearest piece of furniture. At least the hideous rocking had stopped. He was sweating, trembling; his heart was beating rapidly. Someone placed a bowl of water by the sofa. After about an hour he peeped out and had a drink.
This was not what he was expecting at his time of life. At 14 he considered himself to be a middle aged cat, a dignified member of the household. No one had consulted him about a move. And it had not been a short trip; it was not what he was accustomed to. Why, the furtherest he had ever been was to the vet. This journey had taken six hours. Six hours of swinging, bumping, jolting and claustrophobia! No amount of calling to his mistress had made any difference.
Not that it ever did, he thought sourly, exaggerating his misery.For the first two days he stayed under the sofa only venturing out to eat, drink and relieve himself. His new abode was not comfortable. There was furniture and boxes stacked up all over the place. Workmen were busy sawing and mixing, tramping in and out of the house and connecting noisy pieces of machinery, which started with no warning.
To begin with, he was kept indoors. After two weeks his Mistress prepared him for the world outside. She buttered his paws; a process he did not enjoy at all. With that she thought he was safe to be allowed outdoors. But Alex was not keen on going out of the house. He kept using his litter tray. His mistress was not pleased. She thought he ought to be going out and about, doing his business in the garden. Just as he had done in his London home. She, however, had not counted on the existence of the local cat population. In particular she had not counted on the existence of "George Gee Whizz".

What was surprising about George was his similarity in colour and size to Alex. There the similarity ended. For one thing he was much younger than Alex. And whereas Alex was a moderate, relatively laid-back cat, G. G.W. was the terror of the neighbourhood. There was no doubt he was the kingpin of the area. As Alex gained confidence and started roaming out the back, he found that G.G.W had already staked claim to the entire territory. Many was the occasion when he came streaking into the house after a standoff with the big bruiser.
"What am I going to do with you, Alex?" moaned his mistress. "You must learn to settle down and go outside."
Of course the builders didn't help. Just as things seemed calm they began some new activity requiring noisy, earth-shattering sounds from mechanical gadgets. Alex had never encountered the like. His nerves were in tatters. As the weeks went past the noises died down. Then his mistress put her foot down.
"No more using a litter tray Alex," she said. "You must go outside now."
She emptied out the litter tray and cleaned it. She packed it away.That night Alex used the coalscuttle to relieve himself. From then on began a steady process of finding alternative places. The coal scuttle proved to be his favourite."We can't have this Alex," insisted his mistress. "What's the matter with you, you never used to behave like this in London."Alex look at her pitifully and miaowed in his best complaining tone. She didn't understand. There had been no urban cat of his acquaintance that matched the horrors of this country thug. Gradually his mistress got to know other people in the area. They filled her in on the cat situation. She heard that G.G.W could keep any cat around inside or behind a cat door merely by sauntering past. "He's the biggest bully in the neighbourhood, that George Gee Whizz," explained the woman two doors down. "My three won't even go out if he's anywhere nearby. A really nasty piece of work he is."So that was the trouble. Alex's mistress looked thoughtful. The next day she went to meet a friend in Carmarthen. Alex spent the entire day indoors. When she came home she had the usual bags of shopping with her. Out of one she pulled a peculiar red and yellow plastic object. She took it over to the tap and filled it up. Alex looked on, mystified."Alex, let's go outside for a while."
Alex stood still, but his mistress encouraged him through the door, coming outside with him. After sun bathing together for half-an-hour Alex spotted George Gee Whizz ambling down their garden. He stiffened, his hair stood on end and he begin to growl. His mistress stood up and pointed the yellow and red plastic object towards the marauder. She squirted water at him. George Gee Whizz shot into the air and took off like an arrow. Alex looked on in amazement. "Well, I think that evens up the odds a little bit, don't you?" said his mistress. Alex purred at her with admiration. Perhaps he was going to like it here after all.