To the Pit Pony of Waitrose Windsor

I had thought that your world-weary air

Might mean an aloofness to love

Imagined you armed

With careless exchanges

Instead that very malaise

Led you to hold yourself apart

No nihilist you

You find everything sacred

Far too rich for you

Are warm embraces

In looking for someone to care less than enough

I found one who values everything far too much

.

My darling tow-headed boy

I sought only a moment, a word

Now here I stand begging you

To cease talk of martyrdom

What compelled you

To drag your sodden carcass through witching-hour streets

And stagger half blind to my door

I offer no more

Than a place to lay your heavy head

As you wrestled with your boots,

I thought of Generals Die in Bed

The hot bile of 'apparatus';

I thought you might hate me then

In the morning, without warning,

You called me a raven-haired Helen

.

I long for you to hold yourself in higher esteem

But I can't give you the words you need

I taste them behind my teeth, and I swallow

Paired with my deeds,

Every one would ring hollow