This poem is much of a muchness.
Betwixt and between, it jogs along
managing, just about, to pass muster.
Knowing its limitations, it avoids excess
and keeps to the middle of the road.
Appearances though, can be deceptive.
For in the middle of the road something
reflects the sunlight. A silver necklace?
Broken glass? The reader is drawn in.
A blood-stained knife thrown in panic
from the window of a stolen car.
Fingerprints all over it. Police sirens.
In the wrong poem at the wrong time
you are asked to give a statement
and later, a young man is arrested.
He is from a well-known criminal family
who are warned not to intimidate witnesses.
Unfortunately, they have your address.
Threatening phone-calls, excrement
pushed through the letter-box.
Footsteps. The car mounting the pavement.
You move to a friend’s house. The move,
always on the move. Gripped by
an irrational fear of turning over the page…