Marlow’s Complaint
My shins are singing out loud
like Potter’s skinned detective –
him – joyless in being bed-bound
I then picture the flowershop man –
worth now – for now – half of his body
until his whenever-recovery
from a stroke – which found him flat –
He was able to stand so proudly
before that inside weakness outed
and laid the old queen on her back
in Eastbourne’s Sovereign Ward –
I hope he laughs at that word –
whilst I do not suffer such rounds
of writer’s block – no aneurysms –
nothing as vile as being bed-bound