When I was born

Just posting up occasional poems that haven't quite been finished or are flawed but have a pulse ... here's one I thought I'd share. It is in keeping with the theme of babyhood that is running through my bones at the moment..
The premise for this poem is the rather comforting fact that the world existed before you were born and will go on, blithely and regardless, when you've gone..as Alice Oswald said: "The only cure for mortality is mortality".
Happy Autumns, all.

When I was born 

Perhaps there was a man on the 18.18 to Dartford
and a blackbird swooped across his thoughts
and he noticed how yellow its bill was, like crocii,
and the train was bang on time
meaning he caught the fast connection to Dover
and ate stew with his children, told them tales.

I know it was a Friday afternoon 
and I’d like to say it was raining hard 
when I pushed through and the streets were
shining and the birds were singing 
but really I’ve no idea
if the world paused for a second,
in fact I’m sure it didn’t,
as indifferent as it shall be when I breathe my last
sweet breath and this is a comfort -
such bland indifference, 
though I like to imagine my father’s eyes.


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