I should call you, I should really,

I should call and ask how you are,

I should see if you are O.K.

and fighting the fight as well as the world

but I am quite scared that for whatever

reason, I will find out you’re fighting me.

 

The role of dastardly villain does not sit well

with me, I cannot twirl my moustache

and talk of plots in soliloquy to an audience of one,

rather play the heroine, the damsel tied

to the tracks and the locomotive

shot in sepia racing towards me,

aiming to cut off my head from torso; freed

at the last minute and skirts billowing,

freed by my own hand,

through my own judgement

but spurred on by you.

 

I should call you,

I don’t like using the phone,

I would want to see your eyes

blazing with hope or anger

than try to guess your thoughts

and not be able to read

your face properly

through a still photograph that adorns

your name, I should call you,

I want to but life

makes me cowardly where you are concerned

and I am so easily forgotten

so I tie myself to the railway line

and await for you to drive over me.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016