Invisible Mending by Steve Rudd

Getting dressed, in chill before-dawn dark
One of those dull cold mornings, cursing,
I put my foot straight through a trouser turnup:

Now, my pants hang, sag, sadly over shoe,
Adding to my general dereliction -
A stitch in time was needed, ah yes

If only we knew, with perfect hindsight
The point where we should have stuck
The needle in, to intervene, to save

The need for later pins and needles
Pain jabbing – only a stitch, they say,
And you’ll soon run it off

A stitch in time saves nine; nine tailors makes a man,
Stitching surrounds us daily, like tapestry -
All of those needles, always waiting

Needles, sharp, fine, or hollow, hunting for a thread
But even caught in time, I do not think
There’s such a thing as invisible mending –

You rip what you sew; Euripides, Eumenides,
Your gentle “hem” is always ignored,
And life sharpens its needles, day by day

On worries worn as flat as rune-stones
Or pebbles in my shoe, the one that I stuck through
The web of cloth I tore by clumsiness

And so eventually, with the sense of an ending,
You’re forced to hunt the thimble, do your best
(In olden days, they’d sew you in a vest

each winter, underneath pincushion clouds)
Patches on patches, and hope your stitches hold,
Your needle swinging always to mag north

Follow it blindly on the rocks
And you may find they sew you into sailcloth,
The last stitch through your nose

I should watch where I put my feet
And tread more carefully: it’s always easier
To have a care, than try and mend a tear