Sunday, 3 April 2016

Soap Opera

It's easy to forget that if one calls oneself a 'poet' of sorts then it's necessary to write a poem of sorts from to time.


Soap Opera

They want to know what’s going on,
the characters that, week by week,
move from the brink of one crisis

onto the tense, cliff-hanging next.
It’s written into their faces
in old lines of anxiety

saved up from debts or vendettas
or not knowing who the father
is. You couldn’t make it up.

Like us, they can’t escape themselves,
derived from the derivative,
who look as if they’re real but aren’t.

They show us we are victims, too,
of circumstances, of ourselves,
on this side of the flat widescreen

where love also revealed itself
to be not quite as advertised
in the short sunny intervals.