dash

Semicolonic

I see them at it all the time.
They do it in the street;

in buses, trains; the doctor's waiting
room; on playground rides;

one, I shan't forget, while cycling
straight through a red light:

that expeditious, ambidextrous
two-thumb texting thing,

the necessary knack of which
I never could acquire.

A single-finger prodder, me,
and haltingly at that,

worse without my magnifying
specs not that I'm fishing

for excuses. Facts are facts.
What's done is done. I've sent it now.

I meant to do a smiley face
signalling relief

at the good news but it's a wink
...which, given the recipient

(he did my colonoscopy),
will at best look odd;

at worst,
inappropriately flirty.

Ken Cumberlidge


If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ken Cumberlidge  would be pleased to hear them.

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