Potentialities

The sound of that angry thought echoes
Deep in paisley rooms
All who enter hastily leave
That threatening, tangled loom
Of arguments unfought in lovers’ haste
And wars of words unsaid;
Appointments made, forever late
Of dreaded Mondays, dead -
The guttering spark, a curt remark
Flashed out in an icy gust
Through darkened kitchens and day-long baths
We see potential pasts.
Uninvited guests, to call
With broken bells that never rang
The worst pasts now come to pass
Like hanged men now unhanged.