Canto CLI

Irony doesn’t seem such a treasure
when stumbling upon the hard, steel steps
while making my exit from the South Bank Centre

after writing poems about death
for punters that lined up for the honour,
to hear their darkest mortal thoughts expressed

in verse. I grabbed the rail, escaped disaster
and marked the only thoughts within my head
centred around my unborn baby daughter—

and as I settled down to catch my breath,
I’d never felt as thankful for believing
I hadn’t joined the armies of the dead

and kept step with the Home Guard of the living.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Feb 01, 2012 @ 00:23:32

    It would have been tragically ironic if you had met your demise after penning your thoughts on death. New life seems as good a reason as any to cling on to the rail.


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