Poet and Peasant

Where’s the proud light of summer gone?

– Spare me the old romantic pitch.

Autumn’s last haemorrhage clots the lawn.

– This rubbish makes my eardrums twitch.

Leaves fall, sands drift, long summers fade.

– Well, mate, your troubles are your own.

Where is the world’s great treasure laid?

– For Christ’s sake, leave the world alone.

What rakes your heart in the late night?

– The wife’s prolapse, the baby’s cough.

I saw the gulls, pure flecks of light…

– Take your poetic blinkers off.

… settle on the world-rounding sea.

– You’ve had it, mate. Lay off the birds.

The spirit’s hunger woke in me.

– Since when was hunger filled by words?

Hear me, I’ll lift your load of grief.

– Then fix my ulcer, if you can.

I’ll show you joys beyond belief.

– No thank you. I’m an average man.