The Belly Flop of Regret
The cold yellow morning brings another untidy day.
Birds crooning their absurdly joyous songs as I go along,
I have the bearing of a man with tight underwear.
I have the spirit of a fat man who has lost the race.
Some ill-lit mornings I hoodwink myself I am handsome,
A dimly appealing Adonis from the early eighties charts.
Those are frequently the most terrible of all days,
Bubble bursts mid afternoon and I relapse to defective,
Oh, people never mock me; to my face at least,
They smile an elasticated smile but their yes never stir,
I rumble down the aisles at Asda, trying to look slender.
Add to this a stodgy serving of hopelessness and failure.
A malfunctioned life, bursting with grey regret,
Liberally add a double helping of never-do-well,
And the proof; as they say of the pudding, is in the eating.
***Richard Green is a northern wordsmith, living in self induced exile in Plymouth. Richard cites Seamus Heaney and Sean O’Brien has his literary heroes and is fortunate to have been taught by the latter. Richard’s work shameless carries echoes of his northern roots, fused with an eye for the obscure and a love of people watching.***
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