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The Last Whale
the solitude of water
drove him mad
he wallowed like a zeppelin
full of holes
and when he landed
on the beach
they say he made
a thousand packs
of lightly salted
margarine
Going Back
to go back now
would be some sort of victory
just to walk in there
say
I come back
forgot my innocence
and they rummaging grey haired
through the mouldy apples of cloakrooms
burning their bridges in their wet shoes
what would they say
sorry can’t do it
not enough to go round
or worse perhaps
making the sign of the cross
in their clean white chalk
offer me a rubber sea shell
say
does warm milk drink
help or not really
to go back now
just to walk in there even
just to stare back there even
would be some sort of victory
just to watch them flush knowledge
down their pygmy lavatories
along with the limbs
of my murdered saints