The… “It’s not a Valentine's Day poem” poem.

The… “It’s not a Valentine's Day poem” poem.

I do talk

Not always out loud

I am not a chatterer

Nothing worries me more

Than being thought of as a windbag

Pretty Polly

Razor-bill

Without the wit of Coward

The intellect of Wilde

In love with the sound

Of his own anecdote.

Although that is probably not true

Child poverty, domestic violence and senseless murder

Worry me more.

Not that I have too much influence

On big government

Greedy oligarchs

Or misogynists, too lazy

To look at themselves

Before blaming their woes

On their mother,

Arming themselves with assault rifles

Taking to the streets

In search of peace

Blowing everything out of proportion

In an explosion of retribution

For perceived wrongs.

When with casual cruelty

The world looks the other way

Refusing to do the right thing

Unless there is money in it.

Somebody, somewhere

Is always on the make

What would it take for that to stop

A magical incantation

The right to wear charms?

Deliver me from evil

Keep me safe from myself

How difficult can it be

To love one another

When everybody loves somebody,

Somewhere.

Perhaps I should stay quiet

Until a cache of love is found

Beneath an ice shelf in the Antarctic

And it can be more evenly

Distributed.

But I do talk,

Even out loud

Especially in the flat

When there is nobody present

To answer me back

And hallelujah to that.