consider the flair for ill-fortune, the empty stare, the done deal
with sorrow, the rich and rare nest-egg of dreams, the share and share
alike in matters of loss, the payments in kind, the liking for blind
bets, for truth or dare; consider the threadbare get up, the make-up
beyond repair, the tin-tack teeth, consider the dungeon voice
wanting nothing more than bare house-room, and nothing less
than hand-in-glove, a pigeon pair given over to make and mend,
to touch and go, to wear and tear, and all it takes is this: forswear
flint and fire, stay silent, be white on white, live in dead air.
Source: Poetry (January 2011).
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This poem originally appeared in the January 2011 issue of Poetry magazine
Poems by David Harsent
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