The Patron Saint of
Unwanted Hope

And there he goes again
popping up, all apple-cheeks
and marmalade smiles
like a jack-in-the-box –

persistent as the couple
who overstay the party,
you like an iPhone bore
longing to share his apps,

a stalker who finds your
new address and turns up
with a bottle of cheap wine
expecting a meal on the table.

Too stupid to know he’s
beaten, buried, six-feet-under
up he hops, grinning,
shaking off the clods of earth.

Just as you were moving on
finding another route
reassembling the broken
pieces of your life, he’s there,

scrubbed as a schoolboy,
innocent as snow, certain
there will one day be an
answer, reconciliation, cure.

Maggie Butt


If you have any comments on this poem,  Maggie Butt would be pleased to hear them.