the ignoring of J.C.Clarke
I've forgotten his name,
was it Jim Higgins?
I'll probably forget it again
but this so-called poet
was showing me
a crap poem he had written.
Meanwhile, some dude with spiky black hair wearing shades
and with a spiky black suited physique to match
came into the pub.
I had known Jim ( or was it Bill? ) on and off for years.
He was asking for my opinion.His written words posing as poetry
were about as lame as a donkey with four broken legs.
Not wanting to hurt his feelings
I took up the role I fucking hate so much
by saying it was everything other
than the truth.
We took little notice of the spiky-haired man
until he headed for the door
unknowingly taking my ignorance with him
but as he turned before leaving
his pasty skeletal face looking in my direction
hit me like a thunderbolt!
here were we two insignificant's
discussing a page full of shite
without having given him
at least one 'we are not worthy' glance.
Now it was too late! too late for me to repetitively shout out loud
above the beery din
FUCKING HELL! FUCKING HELL!
there's super duper Cooper-Clarke!
At that precise moment,
both me and my regretful shame
could have fallen through the crowded floor!
I could have thankfully shaken
the hand of my all time hero
and left mine unwashed for a lifetime.