Because of all my rivery ways,
days with swollen bellies
like fresh croissants,
you’ve had to wait.
Your Mediterranean mood,
your microscope humour,
have played their poison in my grizzly veins,
and I’m sorry this has come so late.
Because everyone bends to the crook
of a question mark,
we ask others and ourselves
what each of us craves.
Me, I’m just wondering how many
global mugs I’ll carry to you,
still unsure if I’ll ever know
how a father should behave.
Because of your misty understanding
that, sometimes, I’m cold
like a lamb buried in a field,
I think we’ll shoulder many drafts.
Marriage is for the old,
and our pages are yellow with yolk.
We have dusty, librarian years ahead
to spear our blubbery craft.
we need to remember,
I’ve laboured these words for you to consider
today and to the scraps of your life.
I’ve called you babe,
Now, can I call you my wife?
Trevor Conway writes mainly poems, stories and songs. He also cuts his own hair, though maybe with less success. Subjects he typically writes about include nature, sport, society, creativity and interesting moments. His first collection of poems, Evidence of Freewheeling, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015, while his second, Breeding Monsters, was self-published via Amazon in 2018. The poem included here is taken from an unpublished collection he wrote as a marriage proposal, of which only two copies exist. Website: trevorconway.weebly.com