I couldn’t have written this when you were alive,
& you kept living,
unknown to me,
like someone not obscure but obsolescing
whose death surprises mainly by his
having been alive till now (I googled Lawrence Ferlinghetti
today – he’s still alive:–)
. & unknown to my mother
. she has a half-sister
. three weeks younger, alike unknown
Fatherhood is a bit of a mystery
when you put it about like that.
From you I have serial faithlessness
from you she has a name
. & a maiden name
. that I am asked to say when asked by one of the ‘team’
. on the Credit Card
. Hotline, it being typically something unknown
. to other people, even those we’re close to,
. (I made one up)
& her hoary orphan paranoia.
© Kit Fryatt , all rights reserved
Untitled poem by Kit Fryatt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://wurmimapfel.net/.