When the universe was young;
Time Team presenters enthusiastic,
Spring Watch for grown-ups
diving into the coral sea.
Now we are older what is TV?
A sequence of rehashed memory
given a twist of lemon sorbet.
Always predictable, never salty.
I wish I could draw. I wish I could write.
Just imagine what I could do with my time.
Galleries and book signings at Waterstone’s
not this trip in a body bag of ageing bones.
Music could be the accompany to me
so I can hear the beat as I walk down the street
and pass the windows I daren’t look in
lest they give me heed and ask me my name.
I used to romantic I used to be a fool until I made it.
The single rule. Be nobody’s fool. You’re enough for anyone
alone and in company you will never freeze or be lost for words
it’s the way of the singular universe. They need somewhere to go.
So the company excluded by means more fair than foul
the present comes on the tramlines of heaven and hell
dragging the past with it trailing flames that bellow
past my ears singing my hair, burning away my cares.
And sometimes I find I still exceed the pedestrian way
and accelerate past somebody else and then find
that I have the time to do something enjoyable.
Like write the poem I have been writing all of my life.
I wish I could draw. I wish I could write. I wish I could
get better so I can resume my life. And stop living
and get giving and receiving in spades. Again. Again. Again.
I must go now I want to publish. The story of my life.
by Andrew Watkins