Something that started as a sort of ‘mock poem’ but I thought I’d turn it into a slightly less mock-poem…Based on a little moment five years ago:
Good Friday, 2009
I’ll straighten my tie, press
the shaking red icon to hang
up, glide a straight line
towards the light
coming through
the door.
It will knock
twice only –
slowly, precisely.
A back-lit cut-out,
a tall empty form:
“Do you want any
fish?” he’ll enquire.
“I’m sorry,” I’ll reply,
“this is not my
house”.