Friday, 27 August 2010


There’s an untapped potential,
That often goes unmentioned,
And it’s assembled
In my mental space,
Though whether I have the attention span
To handle it
Remains unknown.
I have the capacity
To be fascinated by possibilities
But I’m usually too slothful
To engage them,
Or not brave enough to face
The stuff of everyday arrangements,
And unlike a flight test’s frightfulness
The more ordinary an event
The more likely the extent
To which I’ll omit its entertainment,
Or turn tail altogether
And bolt for the nearest hole;
Insisting all along I was quite right in doing so
Even as the walls fall in.
But the only archaeological certainty
In England
Is that you’ll find bones in Towton,
And I know I’m not amongst them,
So unless I want to rest in peace
I’d best recompense
Common sense
And address my laziness.

No comments:

Post a Comment