You don’t have to be a poet

I occasionally fall head-over-heels in love with beautiful people in cafes. Especially when they are reading and just, you know, brooding. 

 

You don’t have to be a poet,

All fringe and trenchcoat, bones and consumption,

Like a gorgeous contemplative gargoyle

Over a latest oeuvre

Poised, like a monument, on a window’s ledge.

Turn the page with a licked finger.

With the other hand, run through your hair.

Is that a frown you pull,

Making more angular your angular features

And drawing out your question

Somewhere on the lick-turned page?

Young enough to pretend to be so much wiser,

Disarmingly so.

 

The fact that I would be you

Is immaterial.

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3 thoughts on “You don’t have to be a poet

    • Ah thanks! Don’t worry, my archives are being replenished as quickly as they are being shoved out for the amusement of the public. Much poetry, poetry for all. I’ll also soon be publishing work I’ve been working on with a group of local artists in Lincoln. Watch this space…

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