Poem: Nigglement

Looking all too carefully at something without form and trying to give it shape, when its charm is illusion.

Nigglement I walk carelessly between fine lines,     some of them drawn by me,     but mostly they are sketched,     laid out and prescribed for me     by others And yet I’m a grown man, old enough     to be responsible for my choices,     long past parental dictates,     yet not far enough perhaps     from the echoes of requirement No, no, that’s not the word at all So little is required of me anymore,     the word’s shop-worn and yet     there’s that nigglement behind my ears That creeping up upon me, a stealth     of something far less easily defined So subtle it leaks away from description,     but it’s there like a duplicitous thought Something I’m better at avoiding awake,     yet see in the nakedness of sleep Expectation, yes, yes that’s a closer word,     catching me when I least expect     and when I thought it all lay well behind me Like a long dinner, an interminable feed     where the main course was overdone,     but the salad surprisingly crisp     and a spinach soufflé, light as clouds Still an expectation of dessert     and afterward a well-aged cognac There’s always something after I suspect it’s the something after     that walks behind me,     sniffing in doorways,     letting me know its breath     and ducking from sight when I turn There’s the difference, in early life     everything is next and now it’s after Next is an easier expectation,     a ball less punishing to drop But here I stand, in a life of mostly after

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.