French word for avenue.
City in the Canary Islands.
Crossword clues he could not get.
Sighed, accepted defeat,
for he rarely completed one.
No need to get upset.
Put the newspaper down,
and turned the news on.
Always it could not be worse.
No sign of things getting better.
Made being human seem a curse.
But at least he was in control of the radio,
he could turn it off.
There was silence then.
Could even hear a neighbour cough.
There would be another crossword
in the newspaper tomorrow,
but it kept coming in from all directions,
and he could not turn it off,
the agitations of being human,
the frictions in the lines,
the joy, yes, and the sorrow.
No hearts were ever broken,
no love was ever woken
over crossword clues.
Once again, he turned on the news,
to hear about the masked men
waving rifles in armoured cars,
who drove the desert,
to create a new state,
founded on fear and hate,
imposed on others with bombs and guns.
Outside, through the kitchen window,
September sunshine on the garden,
and after the lame legged sparrow,
the rough coated tom cat runs.
They learned nothing from the fall of Babylon,
nothing from the siege of Jericho,
prepared to let the feuds go on and on,
dividing the walls of Jerusalem,
barricading the battle ground,
disallowing the pilgrim a place to go.
Half in a doze, sat in his chair,
he looked up, to see,
at the top of a stair,
a grandmother clock,
to chime the time clear.
Seemed well wound.
Only made a sound
when it announced the hour.
Proudly beside her,
stood a grandfather clock.
They made the house they lived in
for they were magical to see.
He woke and wondered
why no one had thought
a grandmother clock could be.
If she existed,
she could help to keep the balance,
for at the head of a family,
there is a grandfather and a grandmother.
That was true. On that others would agree.
Las Palmas. There it was.
The name of the city in the Canary Islands,
the answer to the crossword clue
on the puzzle page
in the newspaper the next day.
He was glad of one solution.