Naturally We're Coughing
Who comes to answer Pity's call?
Could it be a man whose full remorse
Extends beyond the City's pall
To where the river sets its course
At zero
And will he stand full six foot three?
Could he be a hero, iron-clad
Met beneath the iron tree
Where good is often worse than bad
My dear-O!
And will his feet bestride the Earth?
Could he be a dwarf, invertebrate?
Or will his circumstantial girth
Crack the planet like a plate
Of liver
And shall he, with some lustrous quip
Leap across the river, glistening
Like dribble on a leper's lip
And ask whoever's listening
To quiver
He'll come, I feel it in my bones
& other sage barometers of yearning
And pelt me with the largest stones
Until my blood is burning
Or boiling
And then mine exile shall begin
Could these tears of toiling now bear fruit?
From pole to pole their echoes spin
Around the globe in cold pursuit
Despoiling
| Contributors: | TG, P, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 15th October 2000. |