When he goes
People will say
They worried a bit,
Slightly,
From time to time,
For years,
He struggled with his sleep,
Always looked pale,
Seemed old for his age,
Drawn and gaunt;
But he’s here
And he sings
Like a sparrow met sunshine,
Like a morning
With handshakes,
All knowing,
His bad skin glowing
Like meat
In a butcher’s shop window,
A wandering wind chime,
His heart
A sweet swollen caress.
He rattles through the streets
Imagining conversations
And intrigue,
He whistles at stray gods
And prays to his one dog,
Buys humbugs on Sundays
And drifts.
Maybe they’ll say
There’s a forgotten sub plot
To the short shrift
They supply him in spades,
Life moves at speed
Don’t you know?
Lost truths
Come and go
And the ending’s
Just a kaleidoscope
Of falling fruit
And surprises,
No more guessing,
Just expiration dates
And hindsight,
The gasps around
All rising,
Full stop.
