Poems
by Mike Hickman
Alternative Fillings as listed in the Margins of the Agenda
Praline, ganache, crunchy frog
Coffee cream, pineapple, ham hock
Polyfilla, putty, Everbuild One Strike
Strawberry jam, vanilla, Anything you feel like.
Timothys at it again, this meeting as much as the last.
Reminding us of our purpose in his opening broadcast.
We must not forget, he says, what is most important in all we do
As if its likely wed forget; as if it could be anything but true.
These are people, he proclaims,
As if wed missed it, somehow.
They have lives and needs and wants, he tells us,
And we sit there and take it, with nary a raised eyebrow.
And then out it comes, as it always does,
When my mordant margins are filled,
We must never lose sight that were person-centred, he says,
As opposed to what, though, is never revealed.
Positively Perpendicular
Sideways Sam, they call him.
For hes perpetually shuffling into the side-alleys, the side routes,
The ginnels, the snickets, and the twittens.
Not necessarily short-cuts.
Very often the long-cuts.
Because if theres a straight line to be taken,
A main road or a direct route,
Sams off on the perpendicular,
90 degrees to the rest of us,
And then 90 degrees again,
As he tracks our route
A full block away.
As he takes in the meanders,
As he avoids the oncoming traffic,
As he keeps his head clear.
Sam cant stand the agony of the oncoming gleam,
Hell tell you,
If you think him capable of a straight answer.
And that goes for headlights or glasses,
The look of the steadily advancing pedestrian at the end of the road
The walk towards them, at whatever speed he can manage,
The agony of not being able to acknowledge them,
Even as its no longer possible to deviate from his path,
Because we dont acknowledge each other,
Because that is just not done,
Even if youve been avoiding each others eyes for minutes
Until that moment you meet
And it would be such a relief to say,
Ive been watching you grow in my field of vision
For half a sodding hour now
And thats too much for someone to ignore.
Humans werent meant to blank people for that long.
What the hell are we doing to ourselves?
So Sam prefers the perpendicular.
Hes happier that way.
He says hes positively perpendicular,
Which is fine for him, Im sure,
As long as we dont all give it a try.
Telepathic Ted
It is a mistake to ask Telepathic Ted why
Because it proves that you do not know.
Because it tells him you cannot read him, cannot hear what he can hear,
Or what he ought to hear behind your why.
But, try as he might, he finds nothing there.
He sees the badge, he sees the uniform,
He knows youre asking because of them,
But in your head, he finds none of your interest,
And all of your lack.
There is no voice there,
No curiosity, no attempt to reach him.
And yet Ted is telepathic.
He told you that.
Because he had to.
Because you did not know.
He is telepathic and he hears nothing from you.
Nothing of you.
And so he doesnt need to tell you why.
He doesnt need to tell you anything.
And so he wont,
Right now,
In precisely the way he didnt need to tell the others.
Do-Do-one, Ron, Ron; Do-Do-one, Ron
It was too late to learn the lesson that the Rons dont care,
But Id lived a closeted existence,
Before I even knew what that meant,
And this was my first round.
The beer, lukewarm with a dishwater froth,
Was weaker than my resolve,
When Ron looked round the table
And picked on me as the next up,
Even though this was my first time,
And even though Id been invited.
Your round, son, he said, filing his tenners away,
Ill have half a mild; best see what the othersll have.
And this despite me hardly knowing them,
Because this was did I mention it? my first round.
My first time with them, too, my new colleagues,
My it was becoming obvious temporary colleagues,
til I could find something better,
Perhaps with people nearer my own age
And financial limitations.
I spluttered a bit at the thought of the eight of them sitting there,
As I ran the mental arithmetic I knew Ron had performed first,
And I knew I needed to say something
About the unauthorised overdraft
And the likelihood of being turfed from my place at the end of the month
And the rest.
And I might have said something,
Thin as the beer,
Frothed as its head,
About being momentarily embarrassed in the moolah department,
Because I foolishly thought then that Rons might care.
And he blinked a bit at my words,
And he shook his head and he shrugged,
Because his rule book was clear on the matter:
When youre up, youre up,
No matter what the consequences.
Because men like him
Which I, of course, must so very much have wanted to be
Never talked about the consequences.
And thats when I should have told him what really needed to be said.
Thats why, twenty years later, this piece is titled as it is.
Copyright reserved. Please do not reproduce without consent.