My name

After vespers I sneak into church
to pin advertisements to notice boards.
I gaffer-tape them to lamp posts,
stick them onto office windows: Lost – 

please give this name a home. It coat-tails me,
makes puppy eyes when I’m in conversation,
asks to play fetch, wags its tail at strangers;
snarls at me at night, growling for meat.

On the phone its form will twist and spin
muddling vowels and consonants.
It wriggles free of unsuspecting tongues
but always turns to call me to account.

It’s squatted in my home for decades,
leaping out on me when late from work;
hangs around the kitchen when I cook. It even
lurks inside my bed, elbows my sleep.

Sometimes it sits as a therapist might,
showing me pictures: she in a floral sundress,
smiling at no-one, he clutching the railings
of a bridge – as if that were explanation.

I’ve come to learn it only wants my company,
though it has a way of hovering uninvited
and can’t be trusted with the whisky.
Only yesterday I swore it was a burglar.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s