I have tried

I have tried

But I can’t

For the life of me

Thank god

After all

I am not America

I have no designs on life

Perhaps I did

Once, upon a canvas

When painting in colour

Before the future dropped

Out of fashion

And the dish ran away

With the spoon.

There are no nursery rhymes

Worth the lead

In my pencil

How many times was I told

To keep between the lines

Only to wander off piste

Looking for adventure

Finding only the flat

Of my father's hand

I thought he was king

Didn’t you?

They are all tyrants

In the end

Pretending to be anointed

When the truth

Is more prosaic.

Bullies are not born

But they become

What they are

Soon enough

Whether by design

Or pathology.

I am stuck waiting for

Silver

To line

The bloody clouds

That have gathered overhead,

They are threatening

To explode

Pass the tin hats

Someone has hidden

The umbrella?