It’s national poetry day (apparently). here’s some Norman MacCaig
NeighbourHis car sits outside the house.It never goes anywhere. Is ita pet?When he goes for his morning paperhe makes a perfect right-angleat the corner.What does he do at home? Sit at attention?Or does he stay in the lobbylike a hatstand?Does his wife know she marrieda diagram? That she goes to bedwith a faded blueprint?When I meet himhe greets me with a smilehe must have bought somewhere.His eyes are two teaspoonsthat have been emptiedfor the last time.
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