Little Losses

We were made of words
And they were beautiful
Beautiful like nothing else
Beautiful like nothing
They were nothing.
The worlds in words
So famously explored by readers
Since way back before
Way back before
Even Gutenberg
They are all gone.
And only this remains
A solid world
Of fleshy concerns
Of kitchens and courtesy
Of polite endeavour
Of impolite unravelling
Of politic rebuilding
Of poetry unfulfilled
Love rebranded
People slandered
Stains upon us
Light far from us
This is the real thing
The painful truth and cold reality
Of how we’ve lived
Of how we’ve paid
Someone always pays in the end
Usually people like us, you say
Even when we can’t afford it.

I wrote a birthday poem for you once
And here’s another.
You are much older
Than you were before
Peter Pan no more
You have grown up
And life is full of sharp things now
Hooks and crocodiles
Sad eyes, painful smiles
Denials
Vile imaginings
Reconciling
Compromising
Protestant morality
Play-acting normality
An eye on your mortality
A notion of finality
Is all I have to offer
This is the
Last one
My birthday gift to you
Is nothing evermore
Forever nothing
Just like our words before