I have regrets. I just don't like them very much. |
----a foreword---- I've not done enough to have many regrets, I only really have the one. And I never like thinking about it. This poem is a tribute to a wall and a fresh manouevre I've been building for some years, now. Most people were ignorant when they were young. So was I. But not in that way. ----------------------- No regrets. Perhaps But I wish I knew then what I do now. That old bastard. Use it as you will. Three years a'now I was empuddled In an estuary of greasy, dysfunctioning oil Which slowed me down to a grind And clogged me up with an oblivious head Smeared my windows Though it oiled my doors. I just never walked out Despite having the keys. It took me a big hammer to smash it; The rose-tinted glass. My ignorance quivered when I became aware That cruelty is reflexive Harshness is a given ticket-turnstile And you must leap, or leave behind I was slow. I did neither. I paid my fare. I am the slowest grower. I lack the glory days; The long hot summers; The heartache, the trauma The police records and pregnancy scares I suppose I should've had, But never wanted. It's taken me calendars to reach the motorway While confirming and conforming, Dissenting and obeying; I didn't waste my life Enough. No. No regrets. I'm here now. And from here on in, Get out of the way. |