By Louis Kasatkin
Louis is editorial administrator at www.DestinyPoets.co.uk and founder of Destiny Poets and in his spare time is a civic, community, political activist, blogger and general nuisance to the status quo!
 |
| Louis Kasatkin |
I read a book once,
one with a happy ending
the denouement didn’t suit my mood
I have to admit;
the good guy won out in the end
and got the gal,
justice was served,
the bad guys got their just desserts;
the sun presumably rose again
the following morning after the story ended,
over that small town in the middle of nowhere USA;
It’s always a small town,
the crooked politician, corrupt cop,
local businessman with too many secrets to conceal.
and some innocent gets in their way
by chance or accident,
fate really doesn’t mind which,
and then up pops the reluctant hero;
the saviour of the day,
honour, virtue and fair play;
and he is pretty much always
reluctant, hesitant, self-effacing
pushed to the limit
before he invariably acts,
displaying the customary tropes of being
a tad graphic, a touch sadistic and having a
a flair for the unexpected as he dispatches
each of the bad hombres in turn;
And so he wins in the end,
gets the gal and the kudos,
and most important of all,
the chance to do it all again
in the sequel.
The Stranger’s Absence
I recall him saying,
” of all the possible possibilities isn’t it possible
that there being no possibilities is amongst them? “
To which I countered,
” We cling obsessively to those pieces of a jigsaw
we’ve somehow come to accumulate by chance,
accident or ulterior design, only for those pieces
never to fall into place or even bear any resemblance
to a discernible outline or pattern or a promise of coherence. “
I contemplate the solitary glass of absinthe
that sits forever stationary on a marble top table,
un-paid for and un-drunk until The Stranger returns,
and quaffs it savouring the liquid’s unique indifference
as it surges down his gullet;
We are only led to imagine such things
because we imagine that the Stranger,
long since absconded into the obscurity of the world-at-large
might somehow re-appear unannounced as if by chance,
fate or ulterior design,
And then we might recommence the desultory dialogue,
the Stranger and me
that dialogue which he chose peremptorily to abandon
with his trademark flaneur disquieting insouciance;
and so I sit and toy with the pieces of jigsaw
left me as a memento or perhaps not,
some pieces are clearly missing and
the glass of absinthe requires that I pay for it.
Very nice poem
ReplyDelete