Book of poems: King Jane Germany
Jesus in a toast
A contemporary poem identifying (and applauding?) a weird form of entropic ‘suicide’
He said he was coming to London for
‘about a week’, but let’s call it 5 or
6 days. He is on his way to Paris, but
a stop-off in London is important to
him, as he had never been
here/there before.
He tells me he is coming on Monday,
but will probably have to leave early
on Friday. I work that out at roughly
3 days, not nearly 5.
So he arrives late Monday evening,
and says that early Tuesday he will
need to go to a travel agent and get
some documents for cheap train fares
in Europe. He stresses he will get it
all out of the way ‘first thing’, then
we can meet up and plan how
best to spend the rest of his time.
But the travelling to get here has
worn him out and he is struggling
to stay awake, with his eyes starting
to close if I begin anything involving
more demanding than the emptiest
of small talk. He also has some calls
to make back at his hotel.
