I’m very sorry

I’m very sorry

There is no genius here

There might be a heart

Pumping

Idly

It sits with me

On the sofa

Cozying up

Smouldering

Making promises

About sticking around for the finale

There is always a final act

They put it in the contract

It’s in the fine print

Beneath the false promise

Of a good death

I can’t just stumble

Off into the wings

Or fall off the stage

Just to make a headline.

The brightness dipped

When she left

Somebody hit the dimmers

They are powered down

Permanently now

And it is difficult to

Find the refrigerator

With the door closed

Scotch on the rocks

Would be a treat

Enough

For a poor boy

On the back of

A dry spell.