Insure me, please, against my silliness,
against the common willy-nilly mess
invading lives despite the best advice.
I need a sound risk policy, for a price –
Who knows an agent?
You’ll know the grey gent.
A policy against a life in verse
with lots of praise to swell my empty purse,
against the view beyond my tidy fence
of beggar-bowls amidst the affluence –
Where is the agent?
You’ll meet the grey gent.
A policy against... questioning why,
a policy against... needing to sigh,
a policy to answer every threat
in life, from passion, treachery or debt –
Who is the agent?
Death is the grey gent.