I sent the letter too late
he died the day before
he was due to receive it.
In it I told him how much I loved him,
how much he meant to me.
I sent the letter just on time
he died the morning after he received it
his wife said he read it three times that day
from his cancer-ridden bed
and he smiled, not at what I wrote to him
but at what we meant to one another,
how the decades had fused us together
even when so far apart.
I write poems for no one
and no one reads them
which means I have achieved
the purpose of my poems
When no one reads them
they readily appreciate the poetry
and meaning
though there is neither
poetry nor meaning in them
The philsophical question remains:
if no one reads your poetry
do your poems actually exist?
does this poem exist?
do I, the poet, exist?
do you, the reader, exist?
we'll never know
because no one reads my poetry
and if you think you are doing so just now
and thus proving me wrong
think again.
you are probably dreaming
or are reading someone else's poem
and getting it mixed up for mine.
Death came knocking on my door
No! said I, can't I have some more?
Sorry, he said, get up off the floor
you should have thought about me before
You're all the same, fritter life away
as if I'd never come some day
too much work, too much play
you've spent your life, it's time to pay.
I forgot what I was going to do
then forgot that I had forgotten
so went ahead and did it
then forgot that I had gone ahead and done it
so I went to do it again
only to realise that it was already done
so I sat down wondering who had done it
then I forgot what it was that was done
all of which made me feel that somehow
I had forgotten what I was going to do.
Try describing
Machu Picchu appearing
from below the clouds
at dawn
viewed from our tent
in the hills above
or hearing for the first time
Pale Blue Eyes
by the Velvet underground
or for that matter
First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,
the Roberta Flack version
or aghast at what I thought
was my wife dying
and our newborn boy dead
in Bellshill Maternity
or four years later
our girl
born, fully developed
like Athena sprung from Zeus's forehead
saying, come on life
show me what you've got
or saying goodbye to David and Maria
not know for sure if it would be the last goodbyes
...and they were
At the old shop we used to stop
and wait for my father
to come down the stairs
from his plush sixties office
At the old sweety shop we used to ask
for a hundred and forty-four sweets
at four for an old penny,
or a farthing each
At the old toy shop
we'd spend our pocket money,
two and six every Saturday
on DC comics or the Beano
or plastic soldiers or Airfix models
then run home without stopping
to play with them
The old shops
are now gone
we now get everything
from Amazon
