#poem #poetry #amwrting sketchbook sad


and so we wait and wait and wait
for that knock on the door
when we pick up the pre-packed suitcase
laden with those papers we call identity
there is no need to lock the door
nor shut the window
or check the cooker
because we are not coming back
we may hope
for some disturbance
to act as proof of our memory
but for most the best we can hope
is an annoyance that because we are not here
the minibus driver
who takes us to bingo
can no longer use our address
as excuse to meet his mistress

The Blue Book

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