AS THE COFFEE GREW COLD

A poem about betrayal that popped into my head unbidden. I had been reading a novel that was billed as being a worthy successor to le Carre. I did not think it was but it seems to have prompted this poem.

My meeting with the Stasi

After they left

he had the time,

as the coffee grew cold,

to re-imagine the interaction,

discount his treachery,

not that he would ever talk of it,

or even let himself dwell on his actions,

until the next time they came calling. 

I was interested in how people live with their betrayal. How they manage to go about their daily lives. Does it require some kind of double think?

This next poem is self explanatory.

early this morning at the allotment

for the umpteenth time

at the bottom of the white

drought dry

water tub

a trapped mouse

runs its circumference

I turn the tub on its side

faster than light

the prisoner escapes

and I had thought the real reason I had got up early was to water...

Here are The Weepies.

Until next time.