VERBAL GOLD

I've been working on this first poem since last Friday when it happened.

A Friday night hotel bar

he’s a couple of few drinks ahead of me

his every word is big voiced into his phone

he is deconstructing his heart

I’m the other side of a flimsy partition

trying to camouflage my listening ear

his every word is verbal gold

as he spills memorable phrases

I can’t pull out pen and paper

to record his every heart felt word can I?

Would anyone notice?

The poem wags a finger in my face

Whispers: this one’s not going to happen

Yes, I was sat in a hotel bar attempting not to listen to a man pour his heart into his telephone. To be honest, I think he was past the point of awareness that people could overhear him. The poem wrote itself the next morning. I've been working on this next one about the same length of time.

for the first time in years

he takes stock

of his head long trajectory

from home to here

what has been cast aside

internal inventory

remembers his mother’s prayers

lost somewhere

no going back

Not sure this is going to go anywhere. I like the idea of the protagonist losing his mother's prayers but think it's probably too tell, rather than show.

Here's The Byrds with Gunga Din. No idea what the song is about. It sounds amazing.

Until next time.