The Poetry Marathon

A child’s fingers tying canvas shoelaces.

Tentative steps out the door,

Burdened with books,

Fraught with anxiety,

Answering uncertainly.

A soldier’s fingers tying bootlaces.

The smell of polish before morning parade.

In the service of the nation,

Orders are barked, and followed.

With resentment, not pride.

An adult’s fingers tying Doc Martens.

The frantic push through carriage doors,

“Mind the gap!” is exhorted.

Papers shuffled, phones answered.

Mondays hated, Fridays awaited.

A father’s fingers tying his child’s laces.

The morning commute crawls along.

Stress builds, tempers fray.

Model nuclear family?

It’s a myth.

The mortician’s fingers now tie his laces.

Mournful faces file past,

The resplendence of his Sunday best,

The endless slumber in oak pine cedar.

It comes full circle.

The morning breaks,

A new day ensues,

I stir uneasily.

What is so different?

Not crowing, nor shrill ringing,

But plaintive cries,

Of Cat’s wailing.

On the white canvas I hack my way,

Letters blearily swirl around.

Not Hercules, more Atlas.

I shrug, and stumble.

Hi all,
I’m from Singapore and relocated to Canada over a year ago. I’ve taken part in 24-hour playwriting competitions in the past while cloistered in one location with 80+ other people but this is the first time I’m doing it online, for poetry.
Best wishes to all fellow participants in The Poetry Marathon!