"The raw cold gets colder.
There doesn't seem to be a lot to say.
I wish we could either mend things
or learn to throw them away."
As a day at the flea market ends, Lochhead and her lover prepare to part ways. After showing one another their treasures found that day, she muses about how tragic the brokenness of these finds appears to her. She's remember also how other couples she knows have either had kids by now or broken up. She's eager to make some repairs and gain some closure in her relationships.
"Yes today we're in love aren't we?
. . . All I want
is my glad eye to catch
a glint in your flinty Northern face again"
Lochhead muses upon the fleeting, changeable nature of affection. Surrounded by the gayness of the city in January, she notes how happy she and her lover seem. In this cheer, however, she feels a profound longing to reverse time and to experience the simplicity of how their relationship used to be."
"And suffering's the sweetest source for the profoundest art.
Blue skies, eternal bliss, bland putti -- Heaven might
Not be the be all and end all . . .? For a start
Hell itself's pure inspiration to the creatively driven."
In this poem, Lochhead reframes a terrible career experience as an opportunity for inspiration. As an artist, she chooses to recognize the potential of apparently awful situations. Although a pretty day is pleasant to experience, it makes rather tasteless art.
"All over the city
off-licenses pull down their shutters,
people make for where they want to be
to bring the new year in."
Recalling the native traditions of Scotland from childhood, Lochhead describes the unified feeling which the new year's holiday brings with it. Everyone rests, preparing for the unknown. There's an air of mirth and excitement which banishes industry in favor of family.
