Spoiler Alert
This poem won’t solve any of your problems
or make you rich, or help you to face up
to your tedious job, or your lack of standout talent,
your frittering time away as the world goes by;
to your partner’s justified barbs, to your moody children,
to Gaza, Ukraine, China, or the codswallop
talked by our leaders, or to find enjoyment
in the cock-up factor when the country goes awry;
to the darkness at the end of each dark day,
to the darker hours when you can’t find rest, or sleep,
to the stories you invent in your mind’s chatroom
which you know are wishful thinking, and which also say
how the you you yearn to be has mission creep
and, wants to drop you as its nom de plume...
Tom Vaughan
If you have any thoughts about this
poem,
Tom Vaughan would like to hear them
