ISSN 1758-6488
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Selections from The Reasoner Poetry |
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81
Like with a sermon in a high wind
it becomes uncertain who is speaking to whom.
My friends, I am doing my best to find
what it is I have to say,
but I end up shrugging at the street-corner.
Of course others will break in,
and so they should, they have every appearance
of entitlement.
Others will be murmuring together,
as though making some necessary plan
and are clustered across the road, heads together,
glancing over their shoulders
and something of what they say carries here.
