The words say

The words say

That Mary

Is a published poet

And I wonder

What does that mean

How did that make her feel

I am close

To the main road now

Should I join this group

Elbow sing

Of feeding the fire

Is that what we do

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The Scotsman talks

The Scotsman talks

Of the year they went

To the Royal Opera House

To see My fair lady

They chink their glasses

Of chilled white wine

As if to say cheers

Or something even more celebratory

My tea is now stewed

The earlier freshness

Has declined considerably

Probably due to listening in to other folk’s stories

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Reverse order

Reverse order

After being caught out

With no pages left

Going forwards

So I turn around

As I turned around before

When life had left me

Dwelling in space

The church clock chimes

As you might hope it would

At a quarter to the hour

Or round about then

A seemingly inquisitive man

You know the sort

In brown corduroy

Gets up and goes indoors

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Manufacture

When

The whites

Of your eyes

(In Vienna)

Yes

My story

I so so ought

To place it

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Past Beginning

A poem

Clouded by a play

A play

Shrouded with intimacy

Into love

Walk together

Into life

Stand apart

Into time

Never closer

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