Rhymes With

I say to you, ‘Is life wet or is it dry?’

and the answer you give is irrelevant

because neither of us know what the question means.

‘I’d say life was more of a doughball, son.’

I consider this for a second.

What are you talking about?

Shape? Flavour? Texture? Size? I mean – what?

It’s a metaphor, obviously.

While we’re at it: what am I talking about?

A poem on the Underground is certain to be dull

and in no way ‘underground’.

Poetry for moles/moles for poetry.

If someone reads your poem on Radio 4, give up, now;

you’ve failed.

Do not write for acceptance or recognition.

The more famous the poet,

the more anonymous the poetry;

although this only applies to the living.

Does your poetry rhyme?

With what? Reality? Experience?

There are some people I’d smash over the head

with a brick, given half a chance.

I wouldn’t really, 

I’m just seeing if that rhymes with your experience of people.

Everything is a game of one-upmanship.

Some of my best friends are idiots.

I look in the mirror and see my father’s eyes –

what do you see?

Eternal life would be the ultimate punishment.

I would like to be happy; yes, that would be nice,

wouldn’t it? Nice.

I’m not sure about sanity, though.

Fergus, dear chap: what does your poetry/this poem mean?

It’s one big rhyme with the inside of my head.

What does your face mean?

What does Beethoven’s 7^th mean?

Maybe I’m simply trying to conjure up

the feeling of exasperation, or confusion,

or frustration; or maybe I’m just writing for myself.

Truth cannot be put into words.