Fatic Conversation Poem by Ray Mather

And so we talked of this and that,
Of oven grease and cooking fat
And who spilt what upon the mat
And left that stain.

A clock tick-tocked behind the scenes;
You sewed and pressed your old blue jeans;
I wanted to stop this but hadn’t the means
Through too much pain.

The route to your heart has been blurred;
I dare not utter an incorrect word;
The delicate balance must not be stirred;
Don’t make a scene.

We circled each other all last night
Like crabs preparing for a fight,
Our fatic language clipped, polite;
The cold between.


(2006)