Selling your soul to prove a point
And when you had got to the end of the line:
turning around you saw that you knew it all,
so you did the deed.
Not at a crossroads
with a blues soundtrack,
but at a bus station café in Margate,
over a stale sausage roll
you made your covenant.
O he was smart enough,
and looked into your eyes;
said all the right things,
offered you the world
and another coffee.
And, like you said, your mind was made up already:
your conscience unpricked by the pin that drew your blood.
And so you scratched your name
at the bottom of a paper napkin,
and told me afterwards
how the room got darker then,
and how one old woman got up and left,
wiping a glassy eye.
You looked different when I saw you next;
younger perhaps, less lined.
I can do anything now, you said:
seemed to sweep out of the room.
You could have done before, I said,
but you were gone.
We lost touch, I grew numb,
although I heard of you from time to time
through the pages of the newspapers.
You looked happy
but there was something behind that smile:
keeping you moving, keeping you running.
I hope that youre happy.
If you've any comments on this poem, Matt Gambrill would be pleased to hear from you.