Thursday, 26 July 2012

One day, my boss, the banker

named with alarming accuracy
repeating and terrifying patterns

he became aware of – here, there, this, that
tendency. Along the way we mastered

cooking, toad-in-the-hole, usury, fluff,
sing a song of sixpence, iterative truth:

nodding behind old safety in his hood
and the terror of being rumbled, understood.

1 comment:

  1. John, i found you on twitter by Vincent's tweet and your poetry is lovely.

    I have a grandson with down's, he is only three so god knows what is in store for him.

    I have a poetry blog with 21 authors, i would love to have you as one, Harry.