Taxing my Car.
For Phillipa Perry.
You suggested I write a poem about taxing my car...
..renewing the NCT. Yawn.
Never in the history of verse has such a dull subject been called upon
For song.
Not even the great Bard himself could make music of this !
There is no fine concerto celebrating that round paper disk
Which is puny prove of purchase
There are no heart rending reels of ecstacy to be heard from the strings of violins
At the mention of taxing a car.
No rolling drums no sounds of symbols flying the wind.
But as the February sun rises over the Irish sea to my left
And the housework lies tossed around the place
I sit here now wondering how best to start.
I was born with a sort of curse that dis-allows me to fill out forms
...Which husband do they mean?
Am I supposed to know the Insurance. number ?
What good would that be in my life...?
I need to observe all things important..
Watching the moss grow on my path..
Snowdrops as old as time
.....cloud circles drawn upon the sky
Hearing the spring call of the Blackbird in Tavistock Square
In Raheen, Arklow...
The call...always the same call.
Containing a mystery beyond my grasp ...but not my wonder.
The taxing of my car does nothing but leave me flat
and un-inspired... and poorer..
The thought of fumbling with numbers , dates
Sets of a low and anxious ache within my heart.
The sun has risen now into a winter golden...
I shall put on my walking boots and stroll on the sands of Enereilly Beach.
But oh no... no...I have no time for that...no time fly with the call of the gull
To move with the lap of the waves
No instead ...I must delve into this hideous pile of envelopes
Unopened...foreboding...
Here is the mound of meaningless paper which clutters up my life
The search for lost papers...
Wading ...drowning in it’s papery scraps
And...if I do succeed in this idiotic task..
In no time at all I shall have to begin all over again... It is a cyclical burden.
Kristine Byrne 7 Feb 2012