Poem For Mothering Sunday

Afterwards

The principalities, the powers, the politicians,
The ones who pose in the spotlight
Centre-stage, and magnetise us as they stalk
Towards bankruptcy, murder, betrayal, suicide,
And other traditional exits

The audience leaves, discussing nuances.
A scatter of sweet-papers, ash,
Smells hanging around behind. The audience leaves.

And in they come, rolling up their sleeves,
With hoovers and mops, buckets and brushes and Brasso,
Making it ready for the next time, nobody watching,
With small uncompetitive jokes, with backchat
About coach-trips, soaps, old men,
And a great sloshing of water.

This is where we ought to be. Not
Up on the stage with the rich and the Richards,
Rehearsing already their entrance for the next house,
The precise strut that registers power,

But down on our hands and knees,
Laughing, and mopping up.

U.A.Fanthorpe 1929 – 2009

I wonder what you find yourself thinking about when you come away from a big performance –
not that we’ve been able to do that for a long time !!
Trust a poet to take us somewhere unexpected.
She has been to see a performance of Shakespeare’s Richard lll. As the audience leave the
theatre she pictures another army of significant players sweeping in.
There’s no one watching them but there’s great energy and there’s fun too.
Does this remind you of anyone? Perhaps someone who mopped up after you? Someone you
laugh with?
Where do we see ourselves? Are we people on stage in the spotlight, or do we mostly watch
others performing and then criticise them?
Let’s pray we’re “down on our hands and knees, laughing and mopping up.”
Tina Lamb