Make of it what you will

This was to be

The penultimate poem

OK

I know it does not flow

But bugger it

You know

How carefully I avoided

That attitude stuff

My words

Meant less

Than meaningless column inches

If you so decree

I’m like stainless

Teflon Ted that's me

Named

In so many lady's quarters

He was shorter and fatter

I think you will agree

I don't do attitude

That's not me you see

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If you know how their minds work

You were the last one to see him alive

You caught his last breath

And by chance, by coincidence, in death

You visited his next step

Now some do-good guys; from the society

Of traffic safety no less

They want to bring to an end the roadside flowers

No more the marginal messages of condolence

Nowhere for to grieve

For those who have had their lives snatched

Faster than ever you can imagine

Where then lay the souls of these reformers

Which school, of displaced compassion

Do they attend, or form, or manage

Yesterday I saw the young girl at the roadside

Her stare, vaguely out a million miles to nowhere

Her brief life, with its tragic interruption

Is this the peace which they would have taken away

Then do it

And for every colour that they take away

For every hue shed a tear

Then do it

And for every word that they take away

For every word explain then; oh why my dear

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Why did this happen, again

I saw you at the roadside

By the flowers

And the messages of condolence

For a moment I thought to stop

To sit beside you

To introduce myself as a poet

In that instant your eyes

They saw right through me

There was I

Wanting to use your grief

For my own personal

Gratification and pleasure

However I drove on

Left you to your private meditation

Although on reflection

A few miles down the road

I wished it had been different

Always many coloured flowers

Always notes in plastic pockets

Up and down the roadsides

Scattered ashes, always by the corners

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Mud is thicker than water

You see

If you fish

Right here, on the very bottom

You, without doubt would attract

Quite different species than those

Who masquerade, impolitely on the surface

Yes

Down here amongst the deep mud

In more than murky water

You may both

In accidental collision

Find surprise

Then

Held tight

To rise mercurially upwards

Faster than a rocket

Or

The opening of an eye

It is all about balance

About the touch

A distant understanding

In competition your patience and your mind

And the lessons

Of past and future chance

Bait

Sprinkled on the surface

While butterflies and bluebottles

And dragonflies

And bigger fish

Invisibly, permissibly, pass by

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Care of what is community

Only of a sort

A somewhat limited description

Of the aircraft way above the clouds

Of the reeds right here by the water

Of the mellow breeze

In kindest conversation

The report

Said all was fine

Better than could have been expected

Of this the unknown condition

Of this, to be cared for with placebo

In the rarest of fair fair care

The railway train rattles on by

Commuters on their journeys

Further than they could ever have known

Or hoped for

On the day of the daily departure

On the first class executive arrival

We visited always

And always on a Sunday

The car quiet outwith of any conversation

Unable to say

See I can't even say it now

Goodbye

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