Before Colour
He thought God bore a shapelike a map of Great Britain, indistinct
as the dark that enveloped the earth.
Uncle’s wrath at the loss of National Service
dampened by the church organ drone.
Auntie kept her customary reserve.
God moved into the flats built to watch over him,
splitting the kipper and juggling balls,
from a balcony on the seventh floor.
Auntie maintained a score of his failings.
Uncle’s muttered disapproval was drowned
by the factory horn and motorway roar.
When the flats procreated, Uncle pointed
at heaven and suddenly God
appeared everywhere: in the orbits
described by the Radio Times, in the spare room
where he thought he went unobserved,
examining Auntie’s drawers and corsets
in the dark that enveloped the earth.
Poetry by Ray Miller
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Written on 2026-07-22 at 18:40
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